Long Road To Ruin
by Xx starlight-moon xX
Summary: Sequel to Protege Moi, so read that first or you're sure to be lost! Bellatrix continues her descent into darkness, while Narcissa begins to spiral out of control.
1. Wake Up

**A / N : Sequel! At last! Unfortunately, I have bad news. My internet is about to disappear. As of Friday. I'll do my best to find a solution, but please don't be surprised if updates aren't as frequent as usual, it's not my fault. I'm having a pretty bad time of it at the moment so please be patient with me. I think that's all . . . review if you read it, as usual. It means a lot to me. **

**Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter, or anything you recognize. The chapter title comes from a song by Lostprophets, and I don't own the rights to that either. Just the CD! **

**Oh yes – this chapter is dedicated to Jacalyn Hyde, who is currently reviewing her way through Protege Moi, and making me smile. Thanks! **

**Right – enjoy! **

**Wake Up**

She was drowning. Water pressed against her, and she couldn't throw it off, couldn't break the surface, because, she realized, she couldn't swim. No-one had ever taught her how, and she was paying for it now. Her arms and legs wouldn't move the way she wanted them to, and she couldn't cry out for help, because she couldn't make a sound. Couldn't shift the iron weight that pressed against her chest, couldn't drag the air into her lungs to breathe . . . .

Narcissa awoke with a scream.

There was an almighty crash, and someone swore. Cissy sat up, freeing herself from the stiff linen covers with a gasp. As she struggled to catch her breath, she realized that all she could see was white. White walls and white bedcovers and white hangings . . . . she was in the hospital wing. She stared down at herself. She was wearing a white hospital gown, and she was cold, but there didn't seem to be anything else wrong with her.

"Hello Cissy."

Narcissa jumped. Bellatrix was seated at her bedside, tracing a design on a piece of scrap parchment and looking completely at ease, her long legs crossed and a thin smile playing about her lips. Narcissa wasn't entirely sure it was a smile she liked. She frowned, dropping her gaze to the floor. Lucius Malfoy was sprawled there, along with half the contents of her bedside locker. He seemed to have fallen over. After a moment he cleared his throat.

"Hello Narcissa," he said stiffly, picking himself up and dusting his robes off with a rather disgruntled expression. He was staring at her apprehensively, as though she were a grenade that might go off at any minute. "I trust you're feeling, ah . . . well?"

The expression on his face suggested he thought her insane. Narcissa blushed. Why did she have to scream like that? And why oh why did Lucius Malfoy, of all people, have to witness it?

"I'm fine," she mumbled, wincing a little at his dubious expression. "I had a bad dream," she explained.

"Oh. I see." He continued to stare at her. If Narcissa hadn't been so busy feeling hideously embarrassed, she might have noticed something like concern flicker across his features. But she didn't, and Lucius pushed the odd, foreign feeling away before it really had a chance to register. After all, things like "pity" and "concern" weren't concepts Lucius was really accustomed to.

"Bella?"

"Mmm?" Her sister added another flourish to whatever she was currently embellishing.

"Why am I here?" Narcissa asked the obvious, and her sister looked up at last.

"Oh! Don't you remember? You had an accident," Bella explained, in response to her sibling's blank look. "You broke your leg."

"I what?" Narcissa stared down at her legs in panic, but they both seemed to be unharmed and in full working order. Clearly they had been healed. But she _definitely _didn't remember breaking her leg . . . . She cast her mind back, trying to shake off the effects of whatever they had given her to make her sleep, and to forget the overwhelming sensation of panic that had accompanied her dream of drowning. Bella was still wearing that unsettling smile, and it seemed to stir something in Narcissa's memory. _Hello Cissy . . . . _She shook her head, trying to dispell her surely irrational sense of unease.

"What happened?" she asked carefully.

Bella arched an eyebrow. "Don't you remember? Well . . . I suppose you wouldn't. You had some sort of fight with Sirius Black," she continued. "He hit you."

Narcissa nodded slowly. She did remember that . . .

"Anyway, it seems likely that you hit your head off the wall and gave yourself concussion. An accident, I'm sure . . . You were found at the bottom of the stairs with a broken leg. It looks like you tripped. Honestly, I don't know why you didn't go to the hospital wing straight away . . ."

"But . . I . ." Narcissa opened her mouth, then shut it again. She couldn't shake off the sense that something wasn't right . To distract herself from this unsettling sensation, she looked at the floor, away from Bella's hard stare. As she did so, her eyes fell upon the mess Lucius had knocked to the ground – her school satchel, and all its contents. It came back to her in a rush. Of course! She had followed her schoolbag, down the hall and into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and that was where she'd seen . . . _Bella. _Narcissa sucked in her breath, shocked and confused all at the same time. What had Bella even been doing at school? And why would she lie about it? Narcissa blurted out the words before she could stop herself.

"But I thought you were in France!" she exclaimed, rather senselessly in retrospect. "What were you doing here?"

Bella blinked, and for a moment, Narcissa thought she had managed to take her by surprise. But then she collected herself again, so quickly that Cissy was left to wonder if she had imagined it.

"We came back," her sister said smoothly, not sounding alarmed in the least by Narcissa's suspicion. "France was no fun anyway," she continued. "Lucius got sick, so I ended up playing nursemaid to him for most of it," - she rolled her eyes - "and then I had bit of an, er, run-in with the locals." She grimaced and Lucius frowned at her. Apparently this was news to him. "Still," - a sudden smile lit Bella's features - "I suppose there were a few highlights . . ." She stared off into the distance for a moment, still smiling. Narcissa wasn't sure she liked this smile either. It was a type of smile she had never seen Bella wear before, and something about it made her uneasy again. It was brooding and excited, all at the same time, and there was something else in it too . . . she shivered. Whatever it was, Narcissa had the feeling it didn't bode well.

"But I saw you."

"What?" Bella came back to earth with a scowl. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw you," Narcissa insisted. "In the bathroom. In Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. You came up to me and you said . . ." She frowned, struggling to recall anything beyond that point.

Bella scowled at her. "Don't be ridiculous," she said coldly. "What are you implying?"

Narcissa flushed. Truth be told, she didn't know. But she wasn't stupid, or at least, she didn't think she was _entirely_ stupid. She had known her sister long enough to know when she was up to something.

"Whatever you're about to suggest," Bella continued, her tone distinctly icy, "I'd think carefully about it, if I were you. After all, if you're implying I had something to do with this . ." She trailed off.

"No! Of course I don't mean that . ." Narcissa relented as a wave of unhappiness washed over her. Bella was making her feel like a fool, making her question her sanity. And Lucius was staring from one sister to the other, looking highly uncomfortable. Desperate for him not to think her mad, she made one last weak attempt to defend herself. "It's just that . . . Bella I _saw _you," she protested.

There was no longer a smile of any sort upon her sister's face. "Don't be stupid, Cissy," she said dangerously. She sat up a little straighter, and a hawkish glint entered her eye. "Which reminds me . . . you and I need to have a little chat."

Narcissa blanched. She really didn't like the way that sounded. "What – what about?" she stammered.

Bella raised an eyebrow and glanced at Lucius. "Later," she decided. Narcissa frowned, not knowing whether to be grateful or apprehensive. "In the meantime-" her sister added one final flourish to whatever she had been drawing, and then folded the piece of parchment in half and unexpectedly presented it to Narcissa - "Happy birthday."

"Ha – happy birthday?" Narcissa echoed, confused. Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

"Yes, you dolt. Happy birthday. It is your birthday, you know."

Cissy frowned, alarmed. Was it? Oh yes – it was. It seemed obvious now, and she wondered how she could have forgotten. Apparently Bellatrix was thinking along the same lines.

"Merlin, Cissy – you forgot your own birthday? What have you been _doing?" _she asked suspiciously.

Narcissa blushed. Searching for a way to change the subject, she picked up the card Bella had tossed into her lap. _Happy Birthday _was written across the top in Bella's perfect penmanship and beneath that was a doodle of a rose, each swirling petal picked out perfectly. Coiling up the side of the page, for some unknown reason, was a snake. Bella had charmed the parchment, and Narcissa watched the serpent writhe and coil, feeling puzzled. She didn't see what business a snake had on her birthday card. Eventually she decided it must be some oblique reference to her Slytherin credentials. Lucius Malfoy was staring at the serpent too, a faint frown line creasing his forehead. Narcissa quickly placed the card on her bedside table, propped up against her jug of water.

"Thanks."

Bella shrugged. "You're welcome," she said indifferently, ignoring the funny look Lucius was now giving her. He turned to Narcissa instead.

"It's your birthday?" he asked.

She nodded. She wasn't sure she trusted herself to speak, when he was talking to her directly.

"Oh. I didn't know. I suppose I should have given you a present . ." He frowned, while Narcissa wished for the ground to swallow her up.

"It's fine," she said quickly, finding her voice at last. "I don't need anything, honestly . . ."

But Lucius waved away her protests. Instead he plucked his wand from his pocket and waved it once. A flower burst out of it and fell into Narcissa's lap. A white rose. She stared at it.

Bella laughed cruelly. "A flower?" she said disdainfully. "Is that the best you can come up with?"

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Believe it or not, Bellatrix, I'm not in the habit of giving presents to thirteen year old girls. How would I know what to give her?"

Narcissa interrupted. "I like it," she said, and Lucius inclined his head, briefly acknowledging her thanks. Then he and Bella started bickering again, and ignored her, as per usual. She swallowed. There was a lump in her throat, somehow. She gripped the stem of the white rose very tightly, and her eyes began to swim as the thorns dug into her palm. Appalled at herself, she hurriedly blinked the tears away, aware of how ridiculous she would look if she started crying now, for no apparent reason. She put the rose on the table, next to her card, and wiped her eyes as discreetly as she could. And then she saw it.

"You're wearing a scarf!"

Bella froze, midway through a cutting put-down about Lucius' taste in robes. "What?"

"You're wearing a scarf," Narcissa repeated. It was true. Her sister had a black silk scarf wrapped around her neck, despite the fact that it was a warm day in early May.

Bella scowled. "So? Wearing a scarf isn't a crime. At least not when the person wearing it is a _woman." _She smirked at Lucius, who scowled back at her.

"There is nothing wrong-" he began hotly, but Narcissa interrupted him.

"You've got bruises, Bella," she persisted, "On your neck. I _saw _them, in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

"I was never in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom! For crying out loud!" Bellatrix exclaimed. But Lucius interrupted her this time, frowning.

"What does she mean, bruises?" he asked suspiciously.

Bella clenched her fists, a sure sign she was getting angry. _"Nothing," _she insisted, glaring at Narcissa. "There are no bruises. Cissy, stop being such a fantasist."

Narcissa blushed brilliant pink. This was so unfair! Bella was making her look like a lunatic! So for once, she held her ground.

"Then take it off," she demanded. "If there aren't any bruises, then take it off and prove it."

Bella's mouth fell open. "You – what – I mean - you can't just – order me -" she spluttered incoherently.

Lucius, meanwhile, took the opportunity to repeat "_What _bruises?" with a rather dangerous glint in his eye.

Bellatrix ignored him, pulling herself together and fixing her sister with a glare that could have powdered glass.

"There _are _no bruises," she repeated coldly.

"Then prove it!"

"How dare you! I don't have you prove anything to you, you insolent, ungrateful little -"

"All I'm asking you to do is take off the scarf," Narcissa reasoned. "If you've got nothing to hide then I don't see why you don't just-"

"It's a matter of _principle!" _Bellatrix exploded. "I don't have to prove anything to you! And there's no way I'm indulging your morbid imagination, Cissy-"

Lucius, to Narcissa's surprise, came to her defence. "I still don't see why you don't take it off, if you really have nothing to hide," he said.

Bellatrix shrieked at him. "Oh _shut up, _Lucius! What would you know about it?" Then she turned on Narcissa again, eyes flashing. "And as for you! If you don't drop this, I swear I'll-"

What Bella would have done to her Narcissa never found out, because at that moment, the doors to the hospital wing flew open, and sheer shock gagged her sister as effectively as any charm. Standing in the doorway, glaring at Bellatrix, stood their parents.

**A / N : By the way, if anyone is wondering why Bella didn't simply heal the bruises, the answer is that she's not good at healing spells. Healing spells are something she considers of lesser importance than curses, for example, so she never devoted much time to learning them, in the same way she never bothered with, say, Divination. It's like gangsters not learning first aid, despite the likelihood of being shot. (What an interesting similie . . . . .) **


	2. Gone Daddy Gone

**A / N : Dedicated to Wombat8 this time, as a thank you for the lovely review! I'm still blushing! By the way – it might be obvious, but cookies to anyone who can figure out the real reason Cygnus is so angry . . .**

**Chapter title is from the song by Gnarls Barkley. Reviews? **

**Gone Daddy Gone**

Bella froze. Her parents were standing in the doorway, clearly furious. Her father began to march towards them, scowling, and her mother follwed hard on his heels, her arms crossed and disapproval written all over her face. Bella glanced at her companions. Narcissa was sitting up in bed, ramrod straight and pink-faced, gripping the covers so tightly that the whites of her knuckles showed. She looked angry and hysterical, and was probably on the verge of tears. Lucius, meanwhile, was standing frozen in an attitude of bewildered irritation, and she herself was breathing hard with her wand held in one clenched fist, though she had no memory of drawing it. They all remained frozen in place while Cygnus and Druella marched towards them. Stuck mid-argument. If Bella wasn't so annoyed, she might have found it funny. Her father reached them at last, and the strange spell his sudden appearance had cast over the three of them seemed to break. Druella smiled at her youngest daughter.

"Happy birthday, Cissy," she said, in an admirable attempt at normality. Narcissa only blinked at her, apparently still in shock.

Cygnus, meanwhile, didn't seem inclined to waste his breath on pleasantries.

"A word," he said tersely, glaring at Bellatrix. "Now."

Bella frowned. "Can't it wait?"

Her father growled in response. "No, it bloody well can't." To her horror, he seized her by the arm and began to drag her from the room.

"Let go of me!" Bella cried in protest, but he ignored her. She saw Narcissa and Druella exchange nervous looks, and then her mother turned away from Cissy and hurried after them. The doors to the hospital wing slammed behind them with a bang that made Druella wince. Bella scowled in annoyance and made another unsuccessful attempt to shake her father off.

"Explain yourself," he snarled.

Bella frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about," she began, but her mother cut her off.

"I think," she said coldly, "your father is referring to your sudden disappearance. France, Bella? Did you really think Cissy wouldn't tell us?"

"Oh." It was all she could think to say. _Damn you, Cissy . . ._ "I can explain," she began.

Her father's scowl deepened. "Oh I'll just bet you can," he growled.

Her mother folded her arms. "What were you thinking, Bella? Running off like that? No note? No letter? Noexplanation of any kind! What were we supposed to think? Hmm? Do you have any idea how worried we were, just picturing the disgrace you might bring on the family name? We thought you'd eloped, and you can only imagine _why . ." _She shuddered.

"And with a Malfoy, of all people . . ." Her father's hold on her tightened, so that his fingers dug into Bella's arms uncomfortably, cutting off her blood supply. She winced.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "Why on earth would I elope with Lucius Malfoy? Why would I want to marry _him_? Ugh . . . I _don't _think so."

Druella's eyes widened. "But then . . . why would you run away with him?" she asked uncertainly. "We thought you must be . ." She grimaced and waved a hand at her daughter's stomach, in the universally accepted gesture for "pregnant".

Bella felt her mouth fall open. _"What?!" _she exclaimed, appalled. "Ugh! Of course not!" She shuddered, repelled by the very idea, and silently resolved to give her lies a little more consideration in future. "It was just a joke, really Mother. We only did it for fun."

"So you're not . . .?"

"_No." _

Her mother visibly relaxed. "Well thank goodness for that," she sighed. Then she frowned. "Wait a minute – Cygnus, darling," - she hesitated, clearly reluctant to challenge her husband on any point - "what do you mean, 'a Malfoy of all people?' The Malfoys are a very respectable pureblood family . . . aren't they?" She trailed off, looking confused.

Bella stared at her father. He still hadn't loosened his hold on her, and it tightened again at the name 'Malfoy'. His breathing was laboured and his eyes bulged, as though he were struggling to keep something under control.

"That – that family's trouble," he managed at last. "You stay away from them . ." He swallowed, his breathing ragged. Bella noticed there was a shining layer of sweat on his forehead, and he was shaking, almost imperceptibly. But still . . . she could feel it. Of course, it didn't occur to her not to push him, not until _after _she had laughed in his face.

"Lucius?" she said derisively. "I think I can handle him!"

"_You think it's funny, do you?"_ her father shouted, shaking her so violently that her mother gasped in shock.

"Cygnus, please! Not here!"

He ignored her. "_Well_? Do you? Do you think it's funny? _It's not funny!" _His fingernails were digging into her arms now, hard enough to draw blood. He shook her again, twice as violently as before, and for the first time in her life, Bella felt afraid of her father.

"Let me go!" she shouted, fighting to keep the panic out of her voice. Once again, he ignored her.

"Don't you _ever _disrespect me, do you understand?"

Bella cracked. Shoving him away from her with all her might, she pulled out her wand and directed it at him, gasping for breath. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. But at last, the spectacle of his own daughter brandishing her wand at him seemed to jolt Cygnus back to his senses.

"I mean it," he said, in a tone that was calmer than before but still dangerous to Bella's ears, and to Druella, who was staring at her husband in alarm, as though she had never really seen him before.

"Cygnus . . ." she said weakly. He ignored her.

"I want," he said slowly, "for you to stay away from that family. Do you understand? I am _ordering _you to stay away from Abraxas Malfoy."

Bella frowned. "Lucius," she corrected, "His name is Lucius."

"What? Oh . . . the boy." He ran a hand across his forehead. "Of course. That's what I meant. Stay away from that whole family, do you hear me? Nothing but trouble, _all_ of them . . ."

Bella stared at him, bewildered. Still . . . her heartrate was only just returning to normal, and she had no desire to provoke her father again. Slowly, she nodded.

"Alright," she said at last. "I'll stay away from Malfoy. I promise."

Her father nodded, looking slightly mollified. "Good," he grunted at last.

There was a beat of silence, and then somebody cleared their throat.

"Ahem."

Bella spun round. Lucius was standing in the doorway, looking confused and out of place.

Cygnus' eyes flashed menacingly and Druella hastily placed a hand on his forearm to restrain him. He shook her off as if she were no more than a bothersome fly.

"Stay away from my daughter," he snarled at Lucius, and then he turned on his heel and marched off, without so much as a second glance. Lucius blinked in surprise, and Druella stood locked in place for a minute, staring after her husband. Then she shook herself.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry about that," she said at last, directing a semi-apologetic glance at Lucius. "He . . he , er . . " She shook her head, apparently lost for words. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, and then she hurried after her husband.

Lucius and Bellatrix, left alone in the corridor, stared wordlessly at each other. Eventually Lucius cleared his throat again.

"What was that-"

"I have no idea."

Silence descended again. Bella put her wand back in her pocket.

"Are you . ." Lucius coughed. "Do you intend to keep the promise you just made to your father? It could prove rather awkward, you know."

Bella frowned. As far as she was concerned, there were people who deserved to have their promises kept, and then there were people who simply didn't deserve such an honour. She swallowed, rubbing her arms and wincing as her fingers brushed against the spot where she knew fresh bruises were blooming. Perhaps there was already a mark. It certainly felt like it. Her heart still hadn't returned to normal.

"No," she said quietly, "I don't intend to keep that promise."


	3. Dirty Little Secret

**A / N : Narcissa is finally starting to realize she has a problem. This was one of the hardest chapters I've had to write so far, and one of the most disturbing. Then again, it is a disturbing subject matter, and I don't believe in sugarcoating things. I'm sorry if it's hard to read, because it is quite heavy going, so I'll understand if people don't like it. But I would love your opinions on it. Title is from the song by the All American Rejects. **

**Dirty Little Secret**

It was only half past six, but that didn't matter. Narcissa had already decided that this was the worst birthday she had ever had. Lucius Malfoy, who she was 99.9 per cent certain was the love of her life, now thought she was insane. Bellatrix had been _twice _as frightening as usual, and had possibly (although Narcissa was wary of even _thinking _this) put her in the hospital wing. Her parents had come to visit her, or so she'd thought. Instead, they'd had a blazing row with Bella, the contents of which her sister apparently did not see fit to share with her, and had left in a bad mood, without even bothering to say goodbye to her. Oh sure, they had sent her a card – Narcissa glared at it, as if the intensity of her gaze alone could burn it to a crisp – and a present, but that didn't mean anything. She frowned, twirling the ring that was her birthday present between her fingers and watching the sapphire catch the light. So far, her day had been truly awful. All she needed now was to fall out with Snape, and it would officially be the worst day – never mind birthday – she'd ever had. Sighing, Narcissa placed the ring on her finger, admiring it for lack of anything else to do. It promptly fell off.

"Miss Black?"

Narcissa jumped. The school nurse was watching her with a kindly smile on her face. Cissy flushed. How long she been standing there, just staring at her? Narcissa didn't like being stared at. She hastily wedged the ring onto her thumb, the only digit where she knew for sure it wouldn't fall off, and turned to face the healer.

"What?" she demanded, in a far more sullen tone than she would usually have employed. "What do you want?"

The healer looked momentarily taken aback. But she recovered quickly. "How are you feeling?" she asked brightly. Narcissa narrowed her eyes. She distrusted such obviously false displays of cheerfulness. They usually boded ill for her. Bella, for example, always pretended to be nice when really, she wanted to weedle something out of you. And then there was the time Sirius had held that door open for her . . . she had had to wash her hair four times to get all the frogspawn out. So naturally, Narcissa had learnt to be suspicious.

"I'm fine," she said stiffly.

The nurse stared at her for a long moment, her chocolate brown eyes becoming wider and softer all the time, until they were almost oozing pity, like liquid treacle. Narcissa was forcibly reminded of her Uncle Sebastian's favourite labrador.

"I'm _fine," _she repeated. She decided she really disliked this healer, when she realized her words were having no effect. The pitying stare only intensified, if anything. And then, to her horror, the woman reached out and took her hand, squeezing it in a manner that was evidently supposed to be reassuring.

"Narcissa," she sighed, and that was Cissy's first warning, the fact that she was using her first name. "I think you and I should have a little talk, hmm?"

When Narcissa only stared at her, stubbornly bewildered, she sighed again. "Your sister," she said carefully, "tells me you're no longer eating. Now why would that be?"

Narcissa froze. All of a sudden, the nurse's friendly grip on her hand felt like a vice, a torture device . . . She felt her palm grow sweaty as her face prickled in the sudden heat, and she tried to yank it away, but the nurse held onto her, crushing her fingers once more in what was clearly supposed to be a companionable squeeze. It didn't feel that way to Narcissa. She wanted to pull her hand away, to curl up in a ball under the covers and pretend the nurse didn't exist. To make her go away . . . _Stupid, horrible woman, _Narcissa thought bitterly. What did she know about anything? The "stupid, horrible woman" was staring at her now, patiently waiting for an answer.

Narcissa swallowed, fighting to keep her face straight. She had a horrible feeling it was going to go wonky if she spoke, and then she would start to cry. Her heart was fluttering somewhere in the region of her throat, like a trapped bird dying to get free. This wasn't fair. Just when she thought her day couldn't possibly get any worse, along came this stupid woman, who seemed to think she could just calmly start discussing things which were none of her business, right in the middle of the hospital wing! The entire ward was currently empty, but that was beside the point. Narcissa felt blind-sided and exposed, as though the horrid woman had started reading her diary aloud, or as if she had plunged her hand into her chest and pulled out something rotten. And now she was waving it about, for the entire world to see, not caring at all. After a moment, Narcissa heard her own voice. It seemed to come from very far away.

"But I do eat. I do." _Sometimes. _

The healer stared at her for another agonizingly long moment. "That's not what your sister tells me, dear," she said sadly.

Narcissa stared at her as she absorbed the part of the sentence that had escaped her the first time round. "My sister?" she repeated, perplexed.

The healer nodded encouragingly. "That's right. Your sister."

"Andromeda?" Cissy said blankly, more confused than ever.

To her surprise the woman frowned at her. "No, dear," she said carefully, wincing a little as she did so. "Your _sister." _There were only two sisters in the Black family now. Bellatrix had gone to considerable lengths to make this _very _clear to the staff, on a number of occasions.

"Bella?" Narcissa could hardly believe it. Since when did Bella care about her eating habits?

The matron nodded. "That's right. Bellatrix. Now . . . let's talk, shall we?" She flashed her patient a hopeful smile.

Narcissa made a small, non-committal sound in the back of her throat. Personally, she was far more concerned about Bella's sudden, uncharacteristic interest in her. But the nurse seemed to have other ideas.

"Alright then," she said, letting go of Narcissa's hand at last and spreading both her own in an expansive gesture. "Tell me," she began, "how would you define your relationship with food?"

"What?" In the middle of mentally retracing her last steps, and re-examining Bella's relationship with Lucius to accomodate any wild conspiracy theories, Cissy paused. She blinked at the healer, certain she had misheard. "What did you say?"

"Your relationship with food," the woman continued calmly. "For instance, how do you feel when you eat? Happy? Unhappy? Are there certain foods you think are bad? Do you punish yourself for eating them?"

Narcissa swallowed. Her mouth felt very dry, and she wished this stupid woman would talk about something else – _anything _else.

"No," she said carefully, "They're all about the same."

The woman nodded. "That's good!" she said encouragingly.

Narcissa nodded back, careful to keep her expression neutral. Truth be told, she wasn't sure why she was lying to the healer. She was fairly sure, however, that the reason she had taken such an instant and violent dislike to the woman was the fact that she had brought up this most private of subjects. Narcissa didn't know why the subject was private, she just knew that it _was. _And she was never, ever supposed to talk about it. Something bad would happen if she did . . .

The healer was talking again. "So you don't like or hate any one type of food more than the other?"

She shook her head this time. A silent no.

"I see . . . and going back to the original question. How do you feel when you eat? Or when you don't eat?"

_LIE. _

The voice in her head was cold and commanding, and it seemed to come from nowhere. It was cold and crushing, and it had the threat of iron behind it. It was like when Bella ordered her to do something, and she found herself powerless to disobey, weak against a force that could crush her if it chose.

_Lie, _the voice commanded again. She felt a shiver run down her spine. And suddenly, before her mind had a chance to catch up with her mouth, she realized she _was_ lying.

"I'm sorry," she heard herself say, "I don't understand. Why are you asking me about food? There's not a problem, is there?"

Her feigned confusion seemed to have worked, to have thrown the healer off track. The woman frowned.

"Isn't there a problem?" she asked uncertainly. "Your sister, I must say, seemed quite adamant that there was."

"Oh." Narcissa felt her eyes widen. "But that's why I was confused, you see. Because Bella . . . well, I don't know why she'd say something like that. She doesn't even notice me, most of the time . . and when she does, it's never to say anything nice."

The healer's eyes widened. "You think your sister is _lying _about you?" she exclaimed, surprised.

Narcissa felt herself nod. A thrill of fear coursed through her. She didn't know why she was telling such an awful, malicious lie, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. The voice, this new, terrifying voice in her head, scared her more than Bella, even.

"It was my birthday today," she heard herself say miserably. "My parents came to see me, but they didn't even stay to give me my present. Bella got into an argument with them, and they left . . ."

"Ah. I see . . ." The woman stared at her for a long moment, but Narcissa kept her face innocent, and upset, knowing that Bella had a reputation among the staff for causing trouble. This would sway the matron into believing her, she was sure. She held her breath, waiting.

"Well," the healer said at last, "I'm sorry to hear that. But I think I should give you a quick check-up, all the same. You don't mind that, do you?" Her tone was kind, and conciliatory.

Narcissa hesitated, and then she shook her head. The nurse smiled at her.

"Excellent!" she said cheerfully. "Could you stand up please?"

Narcissa obeyed her. The woman huffed on her fingers to warm them, and then she placed them on Cissy's side, frowning at her bare ribs. "Breathe in," she instructed, "And . . . out again." Her fingers moved up and down as Narcissa obeyed, as though feeling for lumps. That was probably exactly what she was doing, Narcissa thought. "Is there something wrong?" she asked, trying to sound worried, even though she knew perfectly well there was nothing wrong with her.

"No," the nurse said cheerily as she took her pulse. "You do seem a little on the skinny side though. Tell me, how much do you usually weigh? Have you noticed any weight loss recently?"

Narcissa had never been weighed in her life, and her weight had been as it was now for most of the school year, if she was honest. But the voice in her head had no intention of being honest. It manipulated her as easily as a puppet on a string.

"Well . ." she hesitated. "I wouldn't really know. I've never weighed myself." That much was true. "But I suppose, I am getting a bit skinnier. I haven't been trying to, honest. I've just been busy, and I suppose I missed a few meals, here and there. I've just been distracted. I fell out with my cousin, and I'm worried about the summer exams . . ."

She hadn't even given them a thought yet, actually. But as soon as she mentioned those two little words, the healer's face cleared. Instantly.

"Oh I should have known!" she huffed. "Every year I get this! Students, running themselves into the ground. Overstudying, forgetting to eat, not even leaving the building for a full week, if you can imagine it! A whole week without a breath of fresh air!"

Narcissa nodded weakly. The matron continued to rant as she hustled her into her office and put her on the scales, backwards. Cissy tried to glance back, to just see what she weighed, for curiosity's sake. But the healer turned her chin up, so that she was staring at the ceiling. The voice in her head didn't like that at all. It started up again as the healer jotted a quick note on her file. A whisper, this time – an insiduous little whisper, telling her how unfair it was. Why, after all, could the healer – a complete stranger – know what she weighed, when Narcissa, the one _being _weighed, wasn't trusted with this information. It had never bothered her before, how much she weighed. She had never even wondered. But now . . . the voice wanted to know. It wanted to be in control, to know more than the stupid, horrible healer.

Narcissa pulled on her dressing gown and climbed back into bed, sipping the nasty, fish-tasting vitamin potion the nurse had forced into her hands, and listening blankly to her explanations about food groups, vitamins and minerals. She nodded obligingly at the "importance of three square meals a day." Personally, Narcissa didn't feel more than one meal a day to be actually _neccessary_. But she pretended to agree with what she was being told, and when the nurse set her dinner down in front of her, she chewed obediently, aware that she was being watched

Midway through the meal, the healer decided she was approaching her food with enough enthusiasm to be considered normal, and felt safe enough to go and tend to a little boy injured during the Hufflepuff Quidditch practice. Narcissa continued to chew and swallow as she listened to her footsteps die away. When she was sure the nurse was gone, she pushed the plate away from her. Suddenly, she felt sick. She had _lied. _She had said those horrible, untrue things to the healer about Bella, and she didn't even know _why. _After all, she loved Bella. She might be frightened of her, sometimes, and jealous of her, but she still loved her, and Bella was all she had. Her own sister. Her _only _sister, now. But she had lied about her, and made the healer believe she was some kind of lunatic, who would say anything just to get her little sister into trouble.

Narcissa picked up her fork again, telling herself that she hadn't meant it. It had been a moment of madness (she smiled wryly at _that) _and she would make it up to Bella, somehow. She would do something nice for her. Something. Anything. But when she raised her fork to her lips, she found she couldn't bring herself to continue. Her stomach twisted unpleasantly, and her lies had left a bitter taste on her tongue. She couldn't eat, not now, not when her stomach was writhing in guilt. She put the fork down again, tears blurring her vision, because it didn't matter what she might do to make it up to Bella. It didn't even matter if she never found out about it. Narcissa would still know. She would still have lied. Nothing would change that.

Cissy rubbed her eyes frantically on the sleeve of her dressing-gown. Crying wouldn't do any good, and she couldn't let the nurse think she was crying about eating, it would ruin the whole point of the lie. She swallowed hard, panicking. She couldn't tell the truth either, for precisely that reason. There was only one thing she knew for certain – she could not finish this meal. Hastily, she swung her legs out of bed and glanced up and down the ward, double-checking that it was really empty. Then she pulled out her school bag and began sifting through the spare quills and scrolls of parchment, searching for her wand. It wasn't there. Of course. She groaned – she had lent it to Snape, hadn't she? So vanishing the food was out of the question, and the only bin was the one in the nurse's office, which was equally impossible. In desperation, she opened the nearest window and (hoping there was no-one standing directly below her) tossed out the remains of her mashed potato and chicken. She climbed back into bed just as the nurse threw open the door and re-entered the room, muttering under her breath about dangerous sports and dunderheaded practical jokers. She smiled at the site of Narcissa's clean plate and positively beamed at her as she whisked it away. Narcissa smiled back, but it was a stiff, forced smile. She supposed she ought to feel clever. She had fooled the healer, after all. She had got her way.

Sitting in the hospital wing, with her stomach twisting into knots and the fact that she was a liar burning a hole in her conscience, Narcissa didn't feel clever.


	4. Bad Day

**A / N : Update! At last! Chapter title is from the song by Daniel Powter. Read and review, if you like! **

**Bad Day**

Bellatrix was beginning to regret coming back to Hogwarts in the first place. She opened her eyes, the morning after Narcissa's birthday, to find out that she herself was the sole subject of gossip in the Slytherin common room, as almost everyone above fourth year believed she and Lucius had eloped together. Five minutes of listening to the excitable chatter of her dim-witted, unsuspecting roommates made this uncomfortable fact clear. Bella was forced to waste fifteen minutes hexing some respect into them and clearing up this worrying misconception. An activity which left her late for breakfast, and also meant she had no time to visit the hospital wing, to check up on Narcissa. The day went downhill from there. Slughorn pulled her aside after class to question her about Camilla Parkinson's swollen, hamster-like cheeks, which were apparently preventing her from speaking at all, though not, unfortunately, from pointing accusingly at Bellatrix. Making a mental note to hex her fingers next time too, Bella was forced to apologize to the girl, and listen to another tiresome series of dire warnings from Slughorn about karma and the importance of friendship, or some such nonsense. On the way out of Slughorn's office, she was sure to pull Camilla into an empty classroom and warn her, in her sweetest, most deadly tone, of the effects of interfering with Bellatrix Black's attempts to teach you your place in life. "I hope," she said menacingly, as she tugged Camilla's index finger out of its socket with a sickening 'pop', "we won't have to have another little talk about this." The girl nodded, whimpering, and Bella stormed out, feeling she had made her point.

Unfortunately, a knock-on effect of _this _was that she was late for her next class, which just so happened to be Transfiguration. An irate Professor McGonagall treated her to almost twenty minutes of furious ranting before dragging her into an argument about "official school attire" which turned out to be even worse, as Bella had no intention of removing the scarf that was causing so much offence. Her perceieved 'insolence' earned her a detention. All in all, it was turning out to be the worst day she'd had in a long time. The only consolation, in fact, was that Lucius was having a similarly trying time. There wasn't a single class either of them could enter without being treated to a ten minute lecture from the resident professor and a punishment of some sort. By the time the lunch bell rang, they had each been given three detentions and five essays, and had been docked fifty house points. They entered the Great Hall in identical foul moods, Lucius speculating aloud on the blood status of various teachers, and Bella providing the bitchiest answers she could think of.

"Flitwick."

"Half blood at the very _least. _In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he were half-_breed." _

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "The other half being . . ."

"Goblin," Bella said without hesitation. "It's obvious, isn't it? I mean, the height just for starters . . . and I could swear I saw a gleam in his eye that time I wore my goblin silver brooch to class. Didn't you notice? Around Halloween."

Lucius laughed. "I think that may been to do with your attitude to mining charms, not what you were wearing."

Bella rolled her eyes. "What attitude? All I said was that I didn't see the point in learning how to 'extract base metal from the earth and craft it into a recognizable item'. I mean, why bother? If I need a saucepan, I can always _buy _one. And if I want jewellery . . . well, what are goblins there for anyway?"

Lucius smirked. "I think that may have been what offended him."

"Oh please. Spare me. Those little animals should be grateful for something to do. If they didn't have a talent wizards could use, they'd have died out years ago. We gave them a _livelihood. _You'd think they'd be grateful. But no . . . how do they repay us? By trying to kill us every chance they get! Ungrateful, back-stabbing _vermin . . . ."_

Lucius gave a short, cruel laugh. "I agree. Although are you sure the other half isn't house-elf? I wonder about that squeaky voice sometimes . . ."

Bella laughed along with him. "It's a thought," she conceded, "though I'm still going with goblin. Who's next?"

"McGonagall."

"_Her," _Bella snarled. "Well, I wouldn't say Mudblood, but she's definitely got that Muggle-loving look about her. Let's see . . . pureblood, but not very pure. I'd put money on there being Mudblood in there somewhere, and probably not too far back."

Lucius laughed again as they sat down, but Bella's smug smirk slipped from her face at the sight of Narcissa, sitting in her usual place and toying with a strand of spaghetti on her fork, as if this was just another day. She looked up as they sat down and jumped a little, dropping her gaze immediately, as if not looking at them would somehow make her invisible. _Oh no you don't, _Bella thought furiously. Lucius looked quite alarmed at her sudden, ominous change of expression. But she didn't give him the chance to intervene.

"_What," _she growled, glaring at her sister, "are you doing here? And it had better be good."

Cissy swallowed nervously, putting down her fork. "What do you mean?" she asked hesitantly, playing for time.

Bella glared at her again. "You know exactly what I mean, Cissy," she said dangerously.

Her sister flinched.

"I . . I left the hospital wing," she mumbled. "The nurse said I could go."

Bella felt her fingers curl around the wand in her pocket, and fought to keep her breathing even.

"Why," she said slowly, "would she say that?"

Cissy blushed, a delicate pink flush creeping up past her collarbone. "Because she says I'm fine," she murmured, staring at the tangled mass of untouched spaghetti on her plate as though hoping to find divine inspiration there, or perhaps just an escape from her sister's scrutiny.

"And why," - Bella forced the words out through clenched teeth - "would she say that? When you're quite obviously _not." _

Narcissa began to tremble, her eyes shining oddly, threatening tears. "I am fine," she whispered, the words scarcely audible. "I am . . ."

Bella scowled. "Rubbish," she said coldly. "You are not. You lied to her, you tricked her somehow . . . I want to know how." When Narcissa made no response, she continued with a threat. "I'll find out, Cissy. Don't play games with me. I'll find out what you did, and trust me, you won't like it when I do. So if you had any sense at all, you'd tell me now."

She waited. Narcissa was staring at the tabletop now, at her plate, at her lap . . . anywhere but at her sister. She folded her arms across her chest, shaking again, as if she were quite literally trying to hold herself together. Lucius frowned at her.

"Bellatrix," he said awkwardly, "perhaps this isn't the best idea . ."

"Shut up Lucius," Bella snapped automatically. "This has nothing to do with you."

He frowned again, unhappily this time. Bella ignored him.

"Well?" she demanded. Once again, there was no response, and Bella's brittle temper finally snapped. She slammed her hand against the tabletop with force enough to make a nearby tureen of soup jump. "Tell me the truth!" she ordered. Half the Slytherin table turned to stare at them, and a little pocket of hushed silence descended. At the staff table, Professor Slughorn frowned and pushed his chair back, getting slowly to his feet. Bella, whose eyes were locked on Narcissa, did not notice, but Lucius did. Narcissa leapt to her feet as though scalded, and ran from the hall. Bellatrix swore loudly and jumped to her feet herself, about to storm after her. She was shocked to feel a firm restraining grip upon her upper arm.

"Lucius, get _off _me!" she demanded, incensed. He only tightened his hold on her, apparently impervious to the stares he was attracting.

"No."

Bella reached for her wand and then hesitated, deciding she wasn't reckless enough to curse him in front of the entire staff. She tried to wriggle free again, only to find that Lucius was more unyielding than she'd given him credit for.

"Let _go _of me!" she ordered again, to as much - or as _little_ - effect as before. Even worse – Slughorn was now heading towards them, wearing an expression of grim determination mingled with disappointment. He stoppped in front of them, shaking his head like an old elephant bothered by mosquitos.

"Oh dear," he began, "Miss Black, again?"

To Bellatrix's utter shock, however, Lucius interrupted him. "It's alright Professor," he said calmly. "I have this under control."

"_What?" _Bella felt her mouth fall open, and she did not even attempt to close it. Who did Lucius think he was? As if he could do anything he liked just because of that stupid Head Boy badge . . . Her mental rant was cut short, however, as Lucius began to steer her towards the door, leaving Slughorn staring after them, apparently lost for words. He marched her out past the staring students and into the Entrance Hall in stony silence, pulling her down a long corridor and out into the sunny, empty courtyard, where he eventually released her.

"How _dare _you?!"

Bella was so angry she hit him. He barely blinked. Apparently he had been expecting it. Irritated beyond belief by his unresponsive acceptance, Bella slapped him again, snarling in frustration. He raised an eyebrow, his grey eyes glittering in amusement.

"Who do you think you _are?" _she shouted, hitting him over and over again, raining blows down upon his chest until he sighed and caught her by the wrists.

"Stop."

Bellatrix found herself powerless to hit him any more and so was forced to obey. She glared at him, breathing hard. "If you _ever _humiliate me like that again, Malfoy, it'll be the last thing you do, I swear . . ."

He shrugged, and then grew serious. "Bellatrix, you were terrifying her."

"So?"

He frowned. "Doesn't it concern you, that you terrify your own sister?"

"No," Bella replied belligerently. "And I don't see why it concerns you."

"The poor girl was about to start crying," he pointed out. "It was uncomfortable to watch. Did it honestly not bother you at all?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "A little," she conceded. "But I care more about getting the truth."

They stared at each other for a long moment. "I'm going," Bella said at last, turning her back on him. She hesitated with one hand on the door handle and glanced back at him.

"Lucius?"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"Er . . . thanks." It was only now she'd had a chance to calm down that she realized his actions had probably spared her another detention. She supposed he'd been trying to do her a favour, not simply annoy her.

He nodded. "It's fine."

Bella turned away from him in a hurry and went back inside. She had just realized that Lucius had, in fact, done her more than one favour. Almost everyone in the school was currently in the Great Hall, and she had absolutely no intention of returning there. Which meant that for the first time today, she had some free time. _Excellent, _she thought, swinging around in an abrupt right turn and changing direction, so that instead of heading back down to the dungeons, to look for Narcissa, she found herself on course to the hospital wing. She hurried through the empty corridors and pushed open the double doors, stepping quietly inside. To her delight, the ward appeared to be empty.

Bella approached the office at the top of the ward slowly. The door handle yielded immediately to her touch, which was her first indication that she was not alone. Sure enough, the plump figure of the matron could be seen at the other end of the office, stacking the shelves with fresh supplies of Pepper-Up Potion and Soothing Solution. She was humming contentedly, and didn't notice Bella's soft footsteps until the girl was standing directly behind her.

"Hello."

The nurse jumped, sending bottles rolling in every direction. "Oh! Miss Black! You gave me quite a fright, dear, I must say!" She climbed to her feet, massaging her heart, and waved her wand, so that the fallen bottles soared into the air and slotted neatly into place upon the shelf. She smiled. "What can I do for you?"

"Hmm." Bella pulled out her own wand, twirling it idly between her fingers. She smiled back at the healer - a cold, unfriendly smile. "Well that's just the thing, isn't it? What _can_ you do for me? Because I have to admit, from where I'm standing, it doesn't seem to be an awful lot."

The nurse blinked at her. "Excuse me? I'm not sure I understand . . . you don't seem in urgent need of medical assistance . ."

Bella scowled. "Not me, you idiot! My sister. Narcissa. Remember her? She was in here, oh. . . that's right – just yesterday!"

The healer blinked again, like a rabbit that unexpectedly finds itself face to face with a fox.

"I . . yes, of course I remember her," she said uncertainly. She sighed. "Miss Black, I think I know where this is going. Does this, by any chance, have anything to do with what you told me about your sister not eating?"

Bella stared coldly back at her. "What else?" she managed at last, forcing the words out from between clenched teeth. She stiffened as the healer put a consoling hand on her arm.

"Dear," she said quietly, "I can understand, of course, if you were . . . misled. But your sister is fine. I spoke to her and it really is just exam stress and family concerns. She admits she missed a few meals, here and there, but that doesn't mean she has a serious problem. There is a world of difference between the two things. In fact," - she hesitated, drawing a deep breath and squaring her shoulders - "Miss Black, I wonder if you know that eating disorders are extremely serious. To accuse someone of having one is a very serious charge."

Bella stared at her, feeling suddenly wrong-footed. "Let me get this straight," she said slowly, absorbing every nuance of the healer's expression. "You think I'm _lying?" _

"I . .well, I . ."

Her hesitation told Bella all she needed to know. "You do! You think I'm making this up!" Bella found herself breathing hard, her hold on her wand tightening instinctively. The tell-tale signs of anger were creeping in again, but this time Lucius wasn't around to restrain her. There was a rushing sound in her ears – the angry roar of her pulse – and she realized she couldn't really hear what the healer was saying anymore.

The woman shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. "You must admit, Miss Black, that your disiplinary record in this school would lead anyone to suspect-"

"I am _not _lying!" A spark shot from the end of her wand and narrowly missed the matron as it flew past her waist, singing her apron strings. The woman's eyes widened in alarm.

"Put that down," she ordered.

Bella laughed. "Why? Are you afraid I'll set your office on fire? Or do you think I'll hurt someone?"

When the healer didn't answer, she laughed again. "Or is it," she considered, "that you think I'll do something like _this. Expelliarmus!" _

The healer's wand shot from her hand and clattered to the floor. In one swift movement, Bella seized the unarmed woman's collar and twisted it tight, making a fist of the fabric that almost choked the matron as she shoved her against the wall, pressing her wand into her throat. She gasped and struggled, but Bella only pressed her wand harder into the hollow of the woman's neck. She knew she would leave a mark now, but she didn't care. She stepped closer.

"I am not a liar," she said quietly. "Do you understand that? Don't you think I have better things to do with my time than make up lies about my sister?" She swallowed. "I came to you, because stupidly, I assumed you'd know what to do. But no. You don't. All you know how to do is make things worse. I suppose I should have expected it. Stay away from my sister in future. I don't care if she comes to you begging for help. I don't want you anywhere near her. Got that? This -_ this _is just a warning. Next time I won't be so nice, _Mudblood." _

Bella pulled her wand back and waved it once - a quick, jerking movement. An unseen force struck the healer across the face with a sound like a whipcrack, leaving an ugly red weal. She crumpled to the floor and Bella turned her back on her, storming out.


	5. Because Of You

**A / N : Chapter title is from the Kelly Clarkson song. Hope you all enjoy the flashback! Let me know, as always. **

**Also, I have a new oneshot, Moment of Clarity, featuring Bellatrix and Barty Crouch Jr, if anyone's interested, as well a collection of oneshots from the Doctor Who fandom, The World Has Turned And Left Me Here. The links are on my profile page. I'd love to know what people think. **

**Because of You**

_The house was oddly, eerily quiet, and Narcissa couldn't stand it. It wasn't as if the Blacks were a noisy family – the opposite was true in fact – but this wasn't a normal silence. It wasn't the sort of silence that suggested her father was working in the study, or her mother was out shopping, or Bella was doing who-knew-what in her room. And it especially wasn't the sort of silence that suggested Andromeda was sitting in her favourite window seat, reading. It was an ominous quiet, a threatening silence. The calm after the storm, because Andromeda wasn't sitting in her seat. She wasn't even in the house. She was . . . ._

_Narcissa swallowed and got to her feet slowly, unlocking her bedroom door and letting herself out of her room. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, and her head hurt from all the shouting. She crossed the hallway with light footsteps, making as little noise as possible. The silence felt, somehow, like something she wasn't supposed to break. So she opened the opposite door in silence, but she couldn't stop herself from crying out in shock at the sight that confronted her. Andromeda's room had been destroyed. Every single possession her sister had ever owned was ripped and smashed and torn and broken, and in the middle of the destruction, breathing hard and looking strangely distant, stood Bellatrix. _

"_Bella! What have you **done? **You've . . . you've ruined everything!" _

_The words emerged before she could stop them. Her sister blinked, and slowly, the glazed expression left her eyes. Then she began to laugh. _

"_**I've **ruined everything? Cissy, it's just **stuff**. What does it matter?" _

"_But . . because . . it's Andy's stuff." The answer seemed obvious to Narcissa. _

_Bella gave an odd, involuntary sort of twitch at the mention of her sister, but pulled herself together again in time. "So?" _

"_So? So . . it . . she . . she might come back," Cissy stammered. It was a fatal mistake. _

"_Come **back? **Come **back?" **Bella's voice was rising to hysterical levels now, she looked quite mad. Cissy scarcely ducked in time. _

_**BANG! BANG! BANG! **_

"_She's **not **coming back! Don't you understand? Are you stupid? She's – not – coming – back!" Bella punctuated each word with an accompanying blast from her wand. _

_Narcissa wanted to beg her to stop, to tell her that the Ministry might start asking questions if she didn't, but she knew that her sister wouldn't listen. _

"_She's not coming back!" Bella yelled. "If she even tries I'll . . . I'll . . ." She trailed off, apparently horrified by the realization that she didn't know what she would do. Opening her mouth, then closing it again, she stared at the mirror on the dressing-table, and just for an instant, she didn't look frightening anymore. She looked frightened instead, lost and confused. Like Narcissa herself. Then, suddenly, her expression hardened and with another ear-splitting **bang, **she blasted the mirror apart. Shards of glass flew out in every direction, and both girls ducked. _

_Narcissa screamed and ran from the room, staring in horror at the jagged cut on her forearm. It **hurt**. And so she turned around and hurried downstairs, to find her mother. She would make it better, she would make it go away . . . _

_She froze in the parlour doorway. Her mother stood by the sideboard, oblivious to her youngest daughter's presence. She poured herself a glass of red wine, moving slowly, as though the day's events had aged her somehow. And then, slowly, deliberately, she raised the glass, her mouth twisting in a sour smile, to toast an invisible person. She downed the contents of the glass in one. _

_Narcissa stared. And then, very slowly, she backed away, careful to remain quiet and hidden from view. She shivered. This woman, cold and smug and horribly **pleased **looking, didn't look like her mother. She looked like a stranger. Cissy swallowed nervously. Scarlet blood was now streaming from the wound on her arm - it made her feel dizzy and sick to look at it. She approached the room at the top of the house with caution, unsure of what she might find. Everyone in her family seemed to have gone mad, and so somehow, when she opened the door to find her father standing in the middle of his study, surrounded by torn pages, she didn't feel quite so surprised. It was only when she picked up one of the pages and looked at it that she gasped. _

"_My – my new school books!" she cried, alarmed. _

_Her father looked up, breathing hard. For a moment, he looked quite as mad as Bella. Then, with obvious effort, he calmed himself. _

"_Sorry, Cissy," he said helplessly. He looked lost. _

_Narcissa stared at him, unable to process the odd role reversal that had her mother coldly triumphant and her father strangely broken. She swallowed. Suddenly, her arm didn't seem to hurt that much anymore. She tucked it inside her robes and hugged herself, hiding the bloody wound from view. _

"_It's . . . it's okay," she said, finding her voice at last. "They're only books. We can fix them . ."_

_Her father simply gazed at her with an odd, indescribable expression on his face. Then he uttered a single miserable laugh, and did something that surprised her. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. _

"_You should know," he murmered, "Some things can't be fixed." _

She was crying again. That seemed to be all she ever did, these days, cry and cry like a little baby . . . Her face was wet and her throat ached, and still she couldn't stop. _Stupid, pathetic little girl, _she thought. Bella wouldn't cry like this. But she wasn't Bella. She never would be.

"Narcissa?"

She buried her face in her hands. She didn't want to see anyone now, didn't want anyone to see _her . . . . . _

"Cissy!"

She jumped. Because the boy calling her name was the last person she expected. It wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Lucius. It was Sirius.

She scrubbed at her cheeks, immediately embarrassed. "What do you want?" she snapped, as though her tone would disguise her tears, if she could just get it cold enough.

Her cousin stared at her, apparently taken aback. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair in a way that would have made every girl in her dormitory swoon. He frowned unhappily.

"Look," he said at last, "I came to say I'm . . . sorry." He grimaced, but repeated the word anyway with a determined expression. "I'm sorry, alright? I know you think I'm a waste of space, but I can see when I'm behaving like a complete moron, believe it or not. It's just that it's hard, sometimes . . ." He swallowed, looking unhappier than ever. "It's like I think everyone's against me. So I want to push them away first . . . but I never meant to hit you. I swear to God, Cissy. You're a girl. And you're my cousin. There's no way I'd want to hurt you. It was an accident."

"An accident," Cissy repeated flatly. "So, you want me to just . . . forgive you?" The word tasted strangely bitter on her tongue.

"Yeah . ." Sirius shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking uneasy.

She stared at him for a long moment. Then - "No."

"Wha – what?"

"I said no. I don't forgive you."Narcissa wiped her face on her sleeve and got to her feet. It felt strangely _good, _not to forgive someone.

Sirius, meanwhile, was staring at her with his mouth agape. He shook his head as though trying to clear it, and then took a deep, calming breath.

"Look, Cissy . . ." He put his hand on her shoulder. Narcissa froze.

And then, just like that, she was furious. "Get off me," she said furiously. When he only blinked at her in confusion, she snapped.

"If you don't get your hands off me," she said fiercely, "I'll hex you so hard you won't know what hit you."

The words emerged before she really had a chance to think about them. She realized, too late, that she didn't even sound like herself. She sounded like Bella_. _Apparently Sirius thought so too. He lowered his hand, dropping it to her elbow, but he laughed at her as he did so.

"Please," he scoffed, "you're not _Bellatrix, _Cissy. As if you would."

Narcissa couldn't take any more. Finally losing her temper, she pushed her cousin away with all her might, pleased when he staggered and almost fell over. Then she pulled out her wand.

"You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do!" she yelled, incensed. "You don't! You can't just treat me horribly, all the time, or _ignore _me, and then turn around and act like you suddenly have the right to _care! _You don't! That's not how it works!"

Sirius had stopped laughing. He stared apprenhensively at her drawn wand, and then he backed down, giving in with bad grace. "Fine!" he snapped. "Do whatever the hell you want. I don't know why I even bother. You're all the same, aren't you?" He didn't give her a chance to answer. Instead he turned on his heel and marched off, pausing only to fire off a final parting shot as he rounded the corner.

"You need your head examined!"


	6. Points Of Authority

**A / N : Sorry the update took so long, the words just wouldn't come out the way I wanted them to. But I'm probably letting my perfectionist tendancies get the better of me. Anyway, the chapter title is from the song by Linkin Park. Let me know what you think, as always! Oh, I also have a new fic if anyone's interested. It's a Lucius / Narcissa romance, currently called 'Tangled'. It's much lighter in tone than this, with shorter chapters, set when Narcissa is seventeen and Lucius is twenty-one. The link can be found on my profile page, and I'd love your opinions on it, as ever. So if you like romance . . . . **

**Points of Authority**

Half-past five. Half-past six. Seven ' o ' clock . . . .

Bellatrix scowled. She was sitting in her favourite seat in the common room, the one that would no doubt have been called a window seat if the Slytherin common room had not, in fact, been located in a dungeon. She pulled her black school cloak more tightly around her and leant forwards, just the tiniest bit, her dark hair falling in front of her face. All of this, she knew, helped her blend into the shadows, which was just what she was aiming to do. Her gaze was fixed intently on the entrance to the common room. Waiting. Bellatrix Black did not like waiting for anyone, and waiting for _Narcissa, _of all people, was just . . . beyond belief. It wasn't, she reasoned, as if Cissy had anything better to be doing. She had no excuse to be away from the dungeons at this hour, therefore she had to be attempting to avoid her sister – a conclusion that did Bella's patience no favours. The longer she waited to confront Narcissa, the more irritated she became, but she _would _confront her. She was determined to, even if she had to wait until midnight and drag Cissy out of bed by her hair. This was _going _to stop, and it was going to stop _now. _

As if on cue, Narcissa stepped into the common room. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were puffy, as if she had been crying. She was also, for some unfathomable reason, clutching her wand. Bellatrix didn't stop to question this. Cissy cast a quick, nervous glance around the common room, and then dipped her head and turned to hurry upstairs, unnoticed. She was halfway to the stairwell when Bella leapt out in front of her and seized her arm.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

Narcissa gasped. "I – I can explain," she stammered.

"Oh, I'll just bet you can!"

"Bella, I'm sorry," her sister cried, "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean it, please Bella-"

"Shut up." Bella tightened her hold on her sister's arm until she heard Cissy gasp in pain. Her heart had begun to accelerate again, and the fact that she could feel nothing but bone in the arm she was holding onto did nothing to calm her down. "We," she said slowly, "are going to _talk." _

Narcissa nodded. She looked nothing short of petrified. "Please, Bella – you're _hurting _me!"

"I don't care!"

_You're hurting **me. **_Bella swallowed, suddenly aware of the fact that her hands were shaking. To conceal this, she shook Narcissa, as hard as she could, as if she could actually shake some sense into her.

"This ends," she snarled. "Right now. Do you understand? I don't care if I have to sit beside you at every meal and feed you myself – you are _going _to eat. I don't care if you're not hungry. I don't care if you don't like the food. I don't care if you have somewhere you'd rather be. I don't care about _any _of your excuses. If you don't eat, I'll stick a tube down your throat and force-feed you, do you understand? And trust me, you won't like _that." _

Narcissa stared at her, appalled. "You – you can't do that," she whispered.

"Try and stop me."

"No, please Bella, _please . . . _I'll do anything. Just . . just don't-" She broke off, apparently unable to continue, and Bella realized, with a horrified jolt, that she was crying. Begging her sister not to make her eat, and actually _crying_ about it . . . She snapped.

"What the hell is wrong with you? It's just _food_, Narcissa. It's not going to kill you. Just eat it, for Salazar's sake!"

She had started to shake her sister again, and people were beginning to pay attention to the scene unfolding in their corner of the common room, turning to stare and whispering behind their hands. But this wasn't what shocked her. What shocked her was that Cissy was _fighting _her. She didn't know how it had happened. One minute she had been shaking her little sister, unable to keep a lid on her temper, and the girl had been struggling to get free. And then, before she knew what was happening, Cissy was physically fighting her, scratching and kicking and . . . Narcissa's wand clattered to the floor, and Bella tightened her grip upon her sister, seizing both her upper arms and shaking her like a rag doll. She gasped as Cissy kicked at her shins and retaliated by grabbing a fistful of the little girl's fair hair and tugging as hard as she could.

"Stop it, you little animal!"

Narcissa shook her head. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, thick and fast, but behind them, her eyes were blazing. Bellatrix scarcely had time to wonder at this before Narcissa abandoned all restraint and punched her in the stomach.

"How _dare _you?!"

Disgusted, Bella wrapped a portion of her sister's hair in her fist and pulled, harder than before, forcing her sister's neck back almost to breaking point.

"Bellatrix, stop!"

She recognized, dimly, Lucius' voice. Damn him. Why did he always have to interfere? He was still shouting at her, and suddenly she felt nothing more than a fervent desire to shut him up. So she thrust her hand into her pocket and pulled out her wand, whirling it round in the general direction of his voice. There was a bang like a firecracker, and he was blasted off his feet. _Crack. _Several people screamed. Losing patience entirely, Bella slapped Narcissa across the face with all her might. The little girl went flying, collapsing in a heap on the floor in front of the fireplace.

"_Miss Black! _Stop what you're doing this _instant!"_

Bellatrix froze, breathing hard. She looked up, very slowly. Slughorn was staring at her, looking angrier than she had ever seen him in her life. Lucius was lying unconscious on the floor, a thin trickle of blood running from his temple. Narcissa, her face ash-white and tearstained, was also on the ground, the shaking fingers of one hand pressed to the livid red mark on her cheek. And Bellatrix stood above her, pointing a wand at her baby sister, surrounded by a ring of horrified onlookers. All in all, it did not look good.

"I – I can explain . . ."

But for once, Slughorn didn't seem inclined to accept any form of explanation. He shook his head, disarming her in an instant, and put her wand in his pocket.

"No. This is out of my hands, I'm afraid."

Bella stared at him, confused and annoyed. Her fingers curled into an automatic fist, feeling oddly bereft without her wand. To find herself suddenly defenceless, and facing an uncertain punishment, was highly unsettling. "What – what do you mean, it's out of your hands?" she demanded, fighting to stay calm. He wouldn't expell her, would he? He _couldn't. _She was a _Black, _for heaven's sake.

Slughorn frowned. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I've tried my best to rein you in, heaven knows. To no effect, apparently. We'll have to see if Professor Dumbledore can do any better."

Bellatrix opened her mouth, and shut it again, unable to think of anything to say, any argument that would change his mind. She had the horrible feeling "you can't do this – I'm a Black!" wouldn't have much effect in this situation. So she said nothing. Slughorn nodded, acknowledging her submission, and then he crossed to Narcissa, pulling her to her feet. Her sister's eyes jumped from Slughorn to herself, and she folded her arms across her chest, rocking back on her heels. She was still crying, but as Slughorn turned to revive Lucius she took advantage of the distraction and fled the room once more. Bella watched her go, furious. If it wasn't for Narcissa, she would never have lost her temper, and none of this would even be happening . . . .

Lucius, it transpired, was already awake. He stood up, swaying slightly, and dabbed at the blood trickling down his neck, looking more than a little groggy. Slughorn pressed his wand into his hand, and turned back to Narcissa, frowning as he realized she had, in fact, disappeared. He sighed.

"Mr Malfoy, Miss Black, come with me."

"Oh," Lucius mumbled. "If you say so . . ."

They left the common room, the stares of most of Slytherin House following them. As they walked up and out of the dungeons, Slughorn began to speak again, oblivious to Bellatrix's frenzied attempts to make Lucius seem more alert and less potentially brain-damaged.

"Mr Malfoy, I received an owl from your father. Apparently he is experiencing some health difficulties. He wishes you to come home. You can, of course, use the fireplace in my office, if it would be more convenient for you, m'boy . . ."

Lucius frowned. "Oh, of course . . ."

He still seemed completely out of it to Bellatrix, so she was naturally quite alarmed when he suddenly seized her by the arm and hissed in her ear.

"Don't . . ." it seemed to take him a moment to focus on the words coming out of his mouth, "Don't . . . let him take you . . . to . ."

"To Dumbledore," Bella snapped under her breath, finishing his sentence for him. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?"

Lucius shook his head fiercely, an activity which left him rather dizzy. His eyes slid out of focus again, and he almost fell over. Bellatrix glanced at Slughorn, who was still a few steps ahead of them, leading the way to his office. In a snap decision, she pulled Lucius behind a suit of armour, and slapped him across the face.

"Why not?" she demanded.

Lucius groaned. "Because," he murmered, "he'll know . . ."

"Know what?" She could hear Slughorn calling their names in the distance.

"Do you . . . do you remember what I told you? Never . . never lie to the Dark Lord, because he always knows . . . it's the same thing."

Bella froze, recalling the strange sensation she sometimes got, the feeling that her master could read minds . . . . .

"He'll . . . he'll _know?" _she gasped.

Lucius nodded, falling forwards again. She pushed him back into a standing position, propping him up against the wall.

"But . . . I can't not go!" she cried, panicked. "I have to – there must be something I can do! Lucius!"

He seemed to be falling unconscious again. Even slapping him a second time didn't produce the desired effect. She shook him by the shoulders.

"Lucius! Tell me what to do!" she ordered. He had scarcely opened his mouth when Slughorn's voice sounded behind her.

"Miss Black? Mr Malfoy? Is there a problem?"

She turned around slowly, fixing a false smile to her face. "No, Professor, not at all. Lucius just felt a bit dizzy. That's all."

"I see." He didn't seem too convinced. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, my office. We'll leave you here, I think. Miss Black, come with me."

"I . . ." She stared at Lucius, helpless. Her only hope of keeping her secret was about to jump into a fireplace and quite literally go up in smoke. She widened her eyes, silently begging him to help her. Unfortunately, the concussion seemed to be making him even slower on the uptake than usual. He merely blinked, while Slughorn frowned at her in a manner that implied he thought her insane.

"Miss Black, are you quite sure there isn't a problem?"

To her surprise, Lucius answered for her. "She's fine," he said blearily. "She just . . .wants to say goodbye." Slughorn raised his eyebrows. Lucius ignored him. "You'll have to forgive me," he sighed, but this last part seemed to be directed at her. Before she had time to wonder what Lucius might want her to forgive him _for, _he had pulled her into an embrace and kissed her. Slughorn made a noise of alarm, and immediately looked away, which was fortunate, as it meant Bellatrix's hastily smothered shout of astonishment went largely unnoticed. Ugh. Kissing Lucius, she realized with a jolt, felt profoundly _wrong. _That was odd. It hadn't before, when he had pulled her out of the fountain. But now, it felt . . . wrong. She was so unsettled by this realization that it took her a moment to realize he was only kissing her to distract Slughorn, while he whispered six words in her ear.

"Don't . . . . look him in the eye."

He pulled away from her and staggered into Slughorn's office, cursing as he walked into the desk and spilled Floo powder across the floor. He managed to fling the Floo powder _into _the grate on his third attempt, and disappeared. Bella watched him go, silently marvelling at his ability to formulate a plan of any sort while suffering from severe concussion. It was, she grudgingly conceded, quite impressive. Although if he ever tried anything like that again, she wouldn't hesitate to slap him. And she still wasn't entirely sure it had been worth it. Don't look him in the eye? How was she supposed to accomplish _that? _And, even worse - what if she couldn't do it?

If she failed her master . . . . .

If Dumbledore found out the truth . . . .

"Miss Black?"

Slughorn was staring at her, waiting expectantly. For the first time, he looked as if he pitied her a little.

"We're here, m'girl. Go on up."


	7. Pain For Pleasure

**A / N : The Author ducks as all her readers see the words 'Lucius POV' and hurl sharp objects in her general direction. Sorry! I'm not trying to drag out the suspense and make my readers suffer, I swear. But in practical terms, it made more sense to write the Lucius POV first and the Bella POV following. Anyway, to make up for it, I present a peace offering – a nineteen year old by the name of Rodolphus Lestrange. Because who hasn't been wondering about Rodolphus? **

**Chapter title is from the Sum 41 song. Let me know if you liked the chapter, as always. (And I'm sure Rodolphus would like to know if you liked him too . . .) **

**Pain For Pleasure**

"Malfoy! _Malfoy!" _

Lucius groaned. His head hurt. And someone was laughing at him. He opened his eyes, an act that required a surprising amount of effort, and found himself lying on the carpet.

"What the . . .?"

Familiar laughter started up again.

"My thoughts exactly," nineteen year old Rodolphus Lestrange said with a twisted smile, watching him get to his feet. "How's your head?"

There was a throbbing lump on the back of his head, and his hair was matted with blood. "Fantastic," he said sourly. "Ow."

Rodolphus raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to assume you're thanking me for the healing spell in the privacy of your own head."

"What?" Lucius frowned. "You _healed _me?" It sure as hell didn't feel like it.

Rodolphus sniggered. "I never said healing spells were my speciality. That's Rabastan. But yeah, I healed you. Of course, it took me a while to figure out what was wrong with you. So I let you stumble around for a bit, after you fell out of the fireplace. I thought you were drunk. Then I realized how unlikely _that_ was, unless they're putting something new in the pumpkin juice up at that school." He laughed again, but this time Lucius couldn't really say he was surprised. Slytherins tended to glory in each other's misery, though Rodolphus was, it had to be said, usually kinder than most. "So, onto the big question – who decided to use your head as a Quaffle?"

Lucius winced as a series of entirely unwelcome memories returned in a rush. "Bellatrix Black."

Rodolphus stared. "Bellatrix?" he repeated. "That crazy little fifth-year?"

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Lestrange, try and remember two years have passed since you left school. She's obviously no longer a fifth-year."

"Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry."

Lucius stared. Perhaps he was still concussed. Rodolphus was wearing a rather perplexing expression of embarrassment. Catching the querying look Lucius sent his way, he sighed.

"She was always a bit . . ." he trailed off. Apparently he couldn't find an appropriate adjective.

"Mmn. Well, the good news is, she's as-" here Lucius waved his arm in an expansive gesture intended to imply 'take your pick' - "as ever. And of course, she's decided her life's ambition is to serve the Dark Lord. Which I, apparently, am going to make happen for her. Or suffer social ruin. And did I mention that in her spare time, she likes to cause me bodily harm?" He rolled his eyes. "She's a lovely girl, really. Just wait until you get to know her."

Rodolphus was staring at him. "Sorry," he said at last. "You sort of lost me at 'her life's ambition is to serve the Dark Lord' . . ."

Lucius groaned. His skull was starting to ache again. Lestrange hadn't been joking, apparently. Healing charms really _weren't _his speciality. "I wouldn't worry about it," he muttered. "That part seems to lose everyone. Me, Rosier, Dolohov . . . from what I hear, even our master regards her as some sort of amusing novelty. Anyway, I believe this is off the point."

"Off the point?" Rodolphus laughed. "If the point was the insanity of Bellatrix Black, I've got news for you. We're still on the point."

Lucius scowled. "No," he said irritably, "that was an unwelcome distraction. The point was the question I intended to ask, which had something to do with you impersonating my father in a letter." Experience had taught him that letters alleging his father's sudden ill-health were usually, in reality, from another Death Eater.

"Oh, _that. _Right. Well," Rodolphus suddenly smirked - "tell me, do you remember Gideon and Fabian Prewett? You must do, Fabian was in my year – they were the golden boys of Gryffindor, top of every class, stars of the Quidditch team, the boys every girl wanted to marry . . . . you know the type, even if you don't know them."

"No," Lucius said slowly, "I remember. I also remember that they happen to be pureblood . . ." He left the unspoken question hanging in the air.

Rodolphus' grin widened. "Don't you just _love _blood traitors?" he quipped.

"Ah. I see."

"_Exactly. _So, if you've shaken off the concussion . . . ."

Lucius nodded. Suddenly, he felt very awake. "I'm ready."

"Good. In that case, come with me."

They left the house, though Lucius felt a little unsteady on his feet as the clear night air hit him in the face. Lestrange gripped him by the arm, laughing again, and pulled him into thin air. They reappeared on a country lane, at the end of which was a single small cottage. The air here was sweet, and lingering traces of moisture laced every breath they took. It had just stopped raining.

Lucius frowned at the house. The curtains were open, and both the Prewett brothers were in their sitting-room. The younger one, Fabian, was apparently trying his best to irritate his brother, whose nose was buried in a book.

"They're training to be Aurors," Rodolphus said contemptuously. "And yet they have no protection around their house. How thick can you get?"

Lucius shrugged. "They must think they're safe, as purebloods . . ."

"Well they aren't." Rodolphus was scowling again.

"What did they do?" Lucius hadn't thought to ask, before.

Rodolphus' scowl deepened. "Apparently, they – and Dumbledore – are actually thinking of fighting us. Can you believe it? I mean, _why? _They're _purebloods, _and they want to throw all that away to fight for Mudbloods and Muggles and filth. And they actually want to fight the Dark Lord! You don't just fight the Dark Lord, it's insane! I mean, it's not as if you could ever win, so why even try?" He broke off, breathing heavily.

Lucius pulled out his wand, fingering the handle. "I can't pretend I don't agree," he murmered, watching Gideon Prewett snap at his brother, beginning an argument.

"Yeah . . . ." Rodolphus pulled out his own wand, now wearing a gleeful expression. "Well, the Dark Lord wants us to give them a warning. A little taster . . . of what will happen if they don't start behaving in a manner more befitting to their blood status."

Lucius nodded and pulled his mask over his eyes, following Rodolphus silently over the threshold. The Prewett brothers, utterly absorbed in their petty argument, didn't realize they had company until it was too late.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Lucius disarmed Fabian in an instant, leaving Rodolphus to deflect Gideon's lightening-quick stunning spell. Lestrange's jet of violet light hit the bell clock on the mantlepiece behind Gideon's head, shattering the glass. Lestrange himself scarcely ducked in time. Gideon's spell passed perilously close to him, ruffling his hair. He set his teeth in a snarl, and began to duel. Brilliant flares of light lit the room, and before long the two opponents were so involved in their duel that neither of them noticed when a stray spell almost hit Fabian in the mouth. Wandless and utterly defenseless, the young man rolled out of the way, only to find himself the recipient of a sudden kick from Lucius.

Ducking as a curse flew past his own head, Lucius hauled his wandless adversary out of the way and dragged him outside. _"Crucio!" _

Fabian screamed, writhing in agony as his tormentor repeated the incantation. _"Crucio! Crucio!" _

The torture spell came easily to Lucius. He didn't enjoy it, but he felt curiously detached while casting it. He always had. As long he felt there was a reason for it, he could continue to cast it, for as long as his master deemed necessary.

Eventually, when Fabian's eyes had closed and his body had gone limp, Lucius lifted the curse, and cast his gaze back towards the house, frowning. Rodolphus still hadn't emerged, and nor had the other Prewett brother. Which might not bode well.

Checking that Fabian's wand was still securely in his own pocket, and that Prewett really was unconscious, Lucius went back inside. It didn't take him long to find Lestrange. Rodolphus had overcome his oppponent and was now torturing him with relish. As he drew closer, Lucius realized that the bloody mass upon the floor was no longer conscious. Gideon's blank features did not so much as flicker as the red light of the Cruciatus Curse lashed his body.

"Lestrange!"

Rodolphus gave no indication he was even aware of Lucius calling his name.

"_Expelliarmus!" _

Rodolphus wheeled round as his wand flew from his hand. Lucius caught it neatly. They stared at each other for a moment, then Lucius tossed it back to him. "A warning," he said softly. "Not an execution."

Rodolphus scowled, and for a moment he looked as if he might actually curse Lucius. Then he shrugged. "Whatever you say," he replied in a tone of unconvincing indifference. He picked Gideon Prewett up by the neck of his robes and dragged him outside, dumping him on the ground beside his brother before he turned his wand to the house.

"_Incendio!" _

Orange flames leapt from his wand and poured into the empty doorway, rushing through the corridor and devouring the rooms within the house. Flames began to beat aginst the windows, and a searing heat touched Lucius' face as he raised his own wand and shouted _"Morsmordre!" _The Dark Mark burst forth, a vivid green beacon to blaze against the sky.

He and Lestrange walked away, following the lane uphill. Eventually they stopped and turned to watch the house burn behind them. Lucius leant against a fence, watching the flames swallow everything. The roof caved in with a crash, and the fire soared towards the sky, climbing higher and higher, almost as high as the Mark. After a moment Rodolphus leant his weight against the fence as well, digging in his pocket for a flask. He took a drag and passed it to Lucius, who wondered if this was Lestrange's version of an apology. As Rodolphus lit a cigarette, he was proved right.

"You think I went too far." It wasn't a question. It was more of a statement.

Lucius shrugged. He wasn't about to deny it.

Rodolphus swallowed. His eyes were oddly blank, as though he couldn't see the flickering firelight reflected in them. Ash fell from his cigarette onto the grass by his feet, but it took him a moment to stamp out the smouldering beginnings of another fire. He stared, unseeing, first at his shoes and then at the burning building below them. When he next spoke, he sounded calmer, if a little hoarse.

"It's just . . . . sometimes I get so angry. I don't even know why." He kicked the fence, reflecting. "I thought it would help," he frowned. "Doing what Rabastan does, fighting for a cause. I thought it might go away, if I felt part of something. All that _anger. _But it didn't. Not really. I mean, most of the time, I'm fine, but then some small, stupid thing gets under my skin and suddenly it's all I can feel. Anger. You know?"

Lucius considered it. "I'm not sure."

Rodolphus blinked, seeming to come back into focus. "What, you mean you never feel angry?"

Lucius shrugged. "Not really, no. Sometimes I feel annoyed. I tell myself it's anger, but who really knows? It could just be irritation." He laughed. That sounded ridiculous. But the more he thought about it, the more evident the truth of it became. The strongest emotion he ever really felt was annoyance. It sounded oddly pathetic, put like that, and he was suddenly reminded of the reason he never gave his emotions much consideration. "Most of the time," he admitted, "I don't feel anything."

Rodolphus stared. "Nothing?" he repeated incredulously. "Lucky you."

Lucius frowned. "Lucky? Would you call it that? I suppose it is . . . ." He took another gulp from the flask still in his hand, grimacing as the contents burned the back of his throat, and stared at the knuckles of his left hand, gripping the fence. They seemed to shine ghostly white in the gloom. He laughed softly. "You joined to feel part of something? I joined to feel anything at all."

There was silence for a beat.

"Did it work?"

"Not really."

Rodolphus took the flask back. "You know," he laughed, "we haven't had nearly enough alcohol to excuse this kind of talk. It's bloody depressing."

Lucius groaned. "It's probably the concussion talking."

"Then what's _my _excuse?" Rodolphus grinned.

Lucius shrugged. "I have no idea. But I ought to leave. I have less than a month until my NEWTs, and I've riled far too many teachers already. I'd prefer not to earn myself any more detentions if I can help it."

"Oh right." Rodolphus tucked the flask under his cloak again and tossed his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot. He glanced at the burning house, and the Mark hovering above it, and smiled. "See you." He disapparated with a 'pop'.

Lucius watched as Aurors began to appear and then he left himself. He walked through the deserted village of Hogsmeade, turning the evening's events over in his mind. He was still lost in thought when Filch made his way down to the Hogwarts gate and let him in, grumbling about how previous, non-Slytherin Head Boys had never abused their power so frequently. "Ought to leave you out there till morning, I ought . . ." he muttered, turning away with a scowl. Lucius watched him go and then wandered through the dark corridors, heading for the dungeons. It was as he turned a corner that he became aware of something. He was no longer alone. He could see light flickering against the walls - someone else's _Lumos. _He frowned. Apparently, he wasn't the only one wandering the corridors at night. There was, however, a difference. He was Head Boy. He had the _right. _

He stopped and quenched the light of his wand without warning, stepping out in front of the other person. There was a yelp, and he heard someone fall down. A surprisingly small someone. Summoning the fallen wand, which was still giving off a faint beam of light, he trained it on the ground, trying to get a better look at the little girl.

It was Bellatrix's sister.

They stared at each other in silence, both too shocked to speak. Lucius, because he couldn't for the life of him imagine what Bellatrix's sister (who according to her was much too quiet to break any rule) was doing roaming the corridors at night. Narcissa, however, was staring at him with an entirely different expression. There was a little bit of shame in it, at being caught, but mostly she looked . . . . horrified. Lucius frowned down at himself, and then he cursed. His cloak had come undone as he spun round, and the light of a wand worked both ways. He was covered in bloodstains, and it was much too late to hide them. It had been sheer luck they had escaped Filch's notice, but apparently Lucius' luck for the evening had run out.

When cornered, always try to gain the upper hand. Lucius pulled his cloak around him again and illuminated his own wand, throwing Narcissa's features into sharp relief.

"Get up," he said stiffly.

She scrambled to her feet and swallowed nervously. Her face was an unusual shade of pink, and her eyes were red-rimmed. Her chest rose and fell, as though she was out of breath. She was frightened, he realized with a jolt. Wonderful. He had acquired the ability to scare a little girl witless. He sighed.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to soften his voice a little. It didn't seem to have worked. She was still looking at him as though he might attack her at any moment.

"I – I was – running," she stammered.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You honestly expect me to believe that?" he asked incredulously.

Narcissa blushed. "It's true," she mumbled.

He frowned. "Running from what, exactly?"

She looked away from him, staring at the shadows on the wall instead. "Everything," she said softly. She laughed, just once. A miserable sound. "Then I realized I had nowhere to run to. So I just ran."

"That's ridiculous."

"I know." For a moment, she looked unhappier than ever. Then she frowned. "What were _you _doing?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," Lucius said shortly.

"You're covered in blood. And you smell like fire. And _alcohol." _

Lucius scowled, inwardly cursing the Black family. Why were they all so irritatingly observant? Why couldn't they be as airheaded as every other girl of his acquaintance?

"I don't think that's any of your business," he repeated, raising his wand.

"No, don't!" The little girl hugged herself, her eyes widening. "Please don't wipe my memory! Please!"

He hesitated. It was hard not to feel something of a monster, faced with such obvious terror. "Why not?" he demanded, hoping that his weakening resolve didn't show in his voice.

"B - because," she stuttered. "I can keep a secret."

"Is that so?"

Her chin came up, and she looked him in the eye again. There was a flash of defiance in her eyes. "If you ask me to," she said, "I'll keep anything secret for you. But you have to ask. If I promise you first, then no-one can say anything to make me tell. Because I promised you first." She held out her hand, for her wand. "Just ask," she said softly, "and I won't tell."


	8. Knowing Me, Knowing You

**A / N : Sorry for the delay in updating. Once again, I had huge problems writing this one down, even though I knew exactly what I wanted to happen. My mind just stalled every time I opened up the document, and I don't know why. I scrapped the whole thing and started over twice, so please let me know if it shows. This chapter had me driven to distraction. Utter distraction. *shakes head* **

**Chapter title is from the song by Abba. (Yes, I was cheering myself up in my titling of this one. It involved vast quantites of Abba, for some reason. But it sort of worked. LOL.) **

* * *

**Knowing Me, Knowing You**

"Miss Black? Come in."

Bellatrix took a deep breath and stepped into the headmaster's office, trying to calm her sudden nerves. The circular room was exactly as it had been the last time she had found herself here, with only one difference. Today the sky outside the window was black, not blue, but the curtains were still open, and in an office that was almost as high up as the Astronomy Tower, the stars were clearly visible, sparkling against a black velvet sky.

"Your curtains are open." It was a stupid statement, but the words had flown from her lips before she could stop them. Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Ah, yes. Forgive me for that. An old man's indulgence – I like to see the stars. Please, sit down." He gestured towards one of the chairs in front of his desk, a cordial smile on his face, as though he had invited her here for a tea-party, not a punishment. Bella sank into the nearest chair, red-faced and a little disconcerted by this approach. She had been expecting a more Inquisition-like atmosphere. She stared at her shoes, determined not to be the one to break the silence first.

"Would you like a glass of water?"

Bella shook her head, fervently wishing he would just give her a punishment and let her go.

"I see." Dumbledore steepled his fingers, studying her. "In that case, I think we should proceed. Tell me – why have you come to see me?"

"I didn't come to see you," Bella retorted. "Slughorn _made _me come here." There was a moment's silence, during which Dumbledore surveyed her with a half-speculative, half-amused expression. "Professor," she added quickly. "_Professor _Slughorn brought me here." She reddened, dropping her gaze to her lap.

Bellatrix had quite a few secrets. Some of them were exciting, some of them were frightening, and some of them were just embarrassing. She still remembered her mother dragging her here, the summer before she started Hogwarts. Druella had almost begged the old man to take her daughter off her hands, and she – Bellatrix - had stood in this very office, just ten years old, and promised to be a good girl. She had relayed the same story to her master, weeks ago, and he had laughed. What she hadn't told him was that at the time, she had meant it. She had wanted to be a good girl, but somehow her good intentions had been lost over the summer. By the time she set foot in her new school, there was no doubt in her mind or anybody else's. She was a Slytherin, through and through. But some small part of her – the part that liked to mock her for every failure – still liked to remind her every now and again that once upon a time, she had _liked _Dumbledore. It had always been a secret source of shame to her. Preoccupied with this line of thought, she almost forgot where she was, and why. She jumped as Dumbledore spoke again.

"Why are you here?" he asked softly.

Bella swallowed. "I got into a fight with my sister," she muttered. "That's all."

"A fight," Dumbledore repeated. "I see." There was silence for a beat, and eventually Bella realized she was going to have to elaborate.

She took a deep breath. "I lost my temper," she said stiffly, "and I attacked my sister." It sounded so much worse, out loud.

"I see."

"It wasn't _completely_ my fault," Bella protested. She didn't like the sound of that 'I see'. Was he disapproving? Disbelieving? It was hard to tell. "I was trying to help her," she insisted. "She . . . I . . the situation just . . . escalated. I wasn't trying to hurt her. I really wasn't."

_Don't look him in the eye. _That was what Lucius had said. But the thing about avoiding eye-contact was that it made it hard to seem convincingly remorseful. Wide-eyed innocence was also impossible to pull off when you were staring at your shoes.

"Do you think you hurt her?" Surprisingly, Bella couldn't detect any judgement in his voice. Just concern.

She shook her head. "No. I _frightened _her. It's not the same thing." And it wasn't. Not to Bella, anyway. "She needed to be scared. Sometimes that's the best thing for people. A shock."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Was your sister suffering from hiccups?"

Bella blinked. "What?" She was so confused by this that she momentarily forgot to avoid Dumbledore's eye. She looked up to find him regarding her with one silvery eyebrow quirked.

"Hiccups," he explained. "A sharp shock is apparently quite an effective remedy for hiccups. Or, of course, you could try asking her to drink water from the wrong side of a glass."

"Which do you use?" Bella asked, momentarily distracted.

"Neither. I stand upon my head."

Bella stared. "I . . . er . . . my sister . . my sister didn't have hiccups," she managed at last.

Dumbledore smiled. "I suspected as much," he said lightly. "Which leads me to the question of why you felt she required a shock."

Bella fixed her gaze on one of the portraits behind Dumbledore's head. "That's private," she said. She hadn't quite succeeded in keeping the cold note out of her voice, so she decided she might as well push it. "Can I go? I'm tired."

"Not just yet, Miss Black. You attacked your sister. I appreciate the delicacy of the situation, I assure you. However, you must understand that your behaviour, in this instance, was extreme. In fact, it has grown progressively worse over the past few years." He raised his wand and waved it once. A sheaf of paper, bound in brown leather, appeared in front of him and floated down to rest neatly upon his desk. He unknotted the red string around it and pulled out a few pieces of parchment at random. "I have here a number of complaints against you, Miss Black. Teachers, complaining of your insolence, students, accusing you of assault-"

"Who accused me of assault?!" Bella demanded, furious. Dumbledore continued as though he hadn't heard this.

" - a number of unexplained absences from school - and I have reason to suspect you recently assaulted a member of staff. Tell me, Miss Black . . . . if you were in my shoes, faced with rather disturbing evidence . . . . .what would you do?"

Bella swallowed. The blood was rushing in her eardrums now, and the room seemed to be spinning out of focus. She felt trapped. At last, she heard her own voice, unnaturally high and brittle-sounding.

"You – you can't expell me." She gripped the arms of the chair more tightly, pressing the soles of her shoes into the floor, to steady herself. "My father's on the board of governors," she insisted. "He'd have your head!"

Her face was flaming now, but she was determined not to look at Dumbledore. Her gaze wandered instead to the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, the school's only Slytherin headmaster, who was regarding her with one eyebrow raised in sardonic disbelief. Silently vowing to return another day with some paint-stripper and wipe the smirk off his face, Bella scowled.

"Bellatrix." She jumped, as unnerved by Dumbledore's sudden use of her first name as she was by his gentle tone. "Bellatrix. Listen to me."

The old man strode out from behind his desk and crouched down in front of her. She flinched as he touched a finger gently to her chin, trying to tilt her head up, to see her face. She set her jaw and continued to avoid his eye, despite the fact that her heart was pounding and she was beginning to shake, the usual symptoms of anger. But this wasn't anger. Or at least, not entirely anger. She felt helpless and humiliated. He was going to expell her, and then what would become of her? She would leave school without any NEWTs, widely presumed to be an idiot, and would probably end up married to some imbecile, trapped in the life she had tried so hard to avoid. And her master would think she was stupid too, expelled just a month before the exams, not worth his time . . .

"I am trying to help you," Dumbledore said softly. "Believe it or not. But in order for me to do that, you have to help me too. Do you understand?"

Bella shut her eyes. "No. I don't."

Dumbledore sighed. "Listen to me," he repeated. "I don't wish to punish you, Miss Black. But your behaviour is extreme, and I can't allow you to harm the staff or students of this school. You must see that."

"I haven't hurt anyone!" Bella said obstinantly. " And I'm not a child! Stop talking to me as if I am!"

Another sigh. "Forgive me." The apology didn't sound very sincere to Bella, but she was past the point of rational thinking by now. Frightened and furious, she had honestly never hated the old man as much as she did now. Her thoughts were no longer making any sense, but that was nothing new. It happened, sometimes, when she was angry or upset. It was a loss of control that she had never been able to prevent and that made it all the more unfair, in her opinion. How could he expell her for something she had no control over? She didn't think clearly when she was upset, so how could she be held accountable for the things she did?

"Shall I tell you something I've learnt over the years, Miss Black?"

Bella looked up apprehensively. He was still watching her closely, a keen, sharp concern in his eyes. Slowly, she nodded.

"Extreme behaviour," the old man said quietly, "is often a cry for attention."

Bella scowled, "I'm not a child," she interrupted, affronted. "I don't need attention."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, but the pity in his voice shone through more clearly than ever as he continued. "There's no shame in that," he said softly. "In my experience, Miss Black, people rarely seek attention if they don't feel – for whatever reason – that they need it."

She stared at him, stunned, as the truth of his words sank in. She saw Lucius, polishing his silver badge at every opportunity, ridiculously infatuated with his own status as Head Boy. Narcissa, skin and bones and little else, fighting so hard for the right to starve herself. And Bella herself, euphoric at the chance to prove herself, light-headed at the feel of cold hands on her throat . . . . She swallowed. Dumbledore was frowning at her now, looking more grave than ever. Panic flooded through her. Had he seen the things she'd seen?

He gave no indication of it. "I won't expell you," he said seriously, to her overwhelming relief. "But I cannot condone your behaviour. You will serve one detention, every day, until the end of the year."

Thirty detentions. That had to be some kind of record. But at least she wasn't being expelled. "With who?" she asked carefully, trying to sound both grateful and contrite. Unfortunately, contrition had never been something Bellatrix was particularly adept at expressing.

"You will serve your detention with a different member of staff every day," the headmaster said solemnly, "and once a week you will have an additional detention with me. I will, of course, also be obliged to write to your parents."

Bella nodded, not even bothering to entertain the notion that her parents would care. Her father thought Dumbledore was a Muggle-loving old fool who took a soft approach to discipline, and her mother agreed with whatever her father said. As long as she could convince Cygnus that Dumbledore had shown sufficient disregard for the Black family, she could prevent him from agreeing with the Headmaster. And the idea that Dumbledore would have expelled a Black girl, and the daughter of one of the school governors . . . . well, that alone would provide enough offense to keep her father on her side for once. This smug train of thought derailed itself unexpectedly as a far less welcome realization struck her.

"I have my NEWTs at the end of the month," she said slowly. "When am I supposed to study for them?"

Dumbledore merely smiled, his blue eyes twinkling in a way that seemed altogether too self-satisfied for Bellatrix's liking. "Think of it as an opportunity to re-examine your priorities, Miss Black. Now . . . I believe you wished to leave?"

Effectively dismissed, Bella left, hideously aware of the fact that she had just been out-manouevered by Dumbledore. She wandered back to the Slytherin common room in a sort of daze. The mere thought of the month ahead exhausted her. How was she supposed to juggle her approaching exams with her attempts to prove herself to her master, her determination to scare some sense into Narcissa, and multiple detentions? And she still had essays to complete for all the teachers who had taken her disappearing act with Lucius as a personal insult . . . . her head hurt just thinking about it.

She dropped into an armchair in the empty common room, feeling irritated and a little annoyed at the absence of anything she could take her frustration out on. There was a set of Gobstones scattered across the floor, and a Herbology book belonging to someone with the last name Prince, but kicking some of the Gobstones and tossing the book into the fire didn't do much for her temper. Where the hell was Lucius? It was getting late, surely he ought to be back soon? Unless, of course, his father actually was sick. The image of the old man at death's door amused her a little, though not nearly enough. She settled back into the armchair and allowed her eyelids to drift shut as the hours ticked by. She wasn't aware of falling asleep, but she woke with a start as someone tugged at her sleeve.

"Bella. Bella, wake up."

It was Narcissa. Bella sat up, frowning. "What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously. Her sister's cheeks were oddly pink, and she seemed out of breath.

"Nothing," Cissy stammered. "I was just . . . walking."

Bella shrugged. She was tired, and didn't particularly care to learn the cause of her sister's embarrassment. Cissy was the sort of person who blushed when people began arguing _next _to her. It probably didn't matter. She frowned, surprised, as Narcissa sat down beside her.

"What happened, Bella?" her sister asked in a small voice.

Bellatrix sighed. "Nothing," she answered, throwing Cissy's own answer back at her. "I have detention until the end of the year. That's all."

Her sister's eyes widened. "But . . . . you have exams," she said uncertainly.

"I know."

There was a moment of silence. "What about me?" Cissy asked at last. "Do I have to do the detentions as well?"

Bella gave a contemptuous snort. "I doubt it. _Your _appointed disciplinerian is Slughorn. He'll probably just throw some chrystallized pineapple at you and send you on your way with an invitation to RSVP for the Slug Club next year."

Cissy stiffened. "I'll ask to do the detentions too," she insisted. "It was my fault we fought in the first place, I should be punished too."

"Don't be stupid," Bella snapped. Her sister could be so dense sometimes. There was a moment of awkward silence.

And then Cissy did something that surprised Bellatrix even more than volunteering for unnecessary detention. She wrapped her arms around her sister's waist and hugged her tightly. "I'm really sorry," she mumbled. And suddenly Bella was reminded of the thing she had always secretly liked the most about Narcissa. She loved her, in her own silly, childish way.

So Bella tolerated the hug, even though she didn't hug her sister back. "Okay, okay!" she said at last. "You're sorry. I get it. Don't go crazy about it. It's not as if I disowned you or anything . . ."

But she felt curiously alone when Cissy pulled away obediently and turned to traipse up to bed. So she seized her sister's skinny wrist, a sudden thought flashing through her mind.

"Hey, wait."

Cissy stared at her, perplexed. "What?" she asked nervously.

Bella took a deep breath. _People don't seek attention unless they feel they need it. _"Why don't you eat anymore?" she blurted out. It was an ill-phrased question, and one she already half-knew the answer to, but she felt she should ask, somehow.

Narcissa flinched. "I do eat. I don't have a problem, Bella. I just don't eat a _lot,_" she said stiffly.

_Oh not this again . . . _Composing herself with an effort, Bella smiled. "Right. Of course. You do eat. You don't have a problem." The little girl frowned, apparently bewildered by this approach, and Bella decided to strike while the iron was hot. "Just humour me."

Still bewildered, Cissy nodded.

"Good," Bella said, trying to soften her voice. Apparently it was working – Narcissa no longer looked as though she were preparing to fight another round, though apprehension was clear on her face. Before she had a chance to change her mind, Bella ploughed ahead with another question.

"You don't have a problem," she said slowly. "Okay. I believe you. But will you answer a question for me?" Cissy nodded again, and she continued. "Why did you fight me? If you don't have a problem, if you're right and I'm wrong and what you're doing is completely normal. . . ." She frowned. "Why fight me? Why get so upset?"

Narcissa opened her mouth, and then closed it again, apparently unable to think of a response. She frowned at the floor, looking troubled and confused. And Bella knew that for the first time, _something _she'd done had had an effect. Cissy couldn't give her an answer, which meant that part of her must know what she was doing was wrong, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Bella wrapped her cloak around her, shivering a little. It was always so cold, down here.

"Go to bed, Cissy," she said softly. "You look tired."

Her sister nodded, pale and troubled-looking. Bella watched her stumble up the stairs to her dormitory, and she sighed, running a hand over her face. She scooped up a handful of Gobstones and tossed one into the fire, yawning as it exploded in a shower of sparks. She was just about to go to bed herself when the stone wall slid back a second time, and a familiar figure stepped into the common room.

"Well it's about time!"

Lucius arched an eyebrow. "You waited for me all this time?" he asked, amused.

Bella scowled. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. I got sent to Dumbledore, remember? And then I had to talk to Narcissa."

"Oh, of course." He frowned at her. "What happened?"

Bella kicked the chair opposite her. "Sit down," she said irritably, "and I'll _tell_ you."

He sat down obediently, and Bella suppressed a snigger. At least _someone _in her life did what they were supposed to do. However annoying he might be, she could usually count on Lucius to obey her. And to care about what happened to her. It was a product, she supposed, of each having saved the other's life. A bond, of sorts. And as long as she was stuck in this stupid school, it wasn't entirely insufferable to have a partner in crime. Maybe this was what it felt like to have a friend. Bella wouldn't really know. She had never cared much for friends. It didn't really mean anything, when they were all either afraid of her or hoping to get something in return.

"Don't tell me Dumbledore expelled you," Lucius frowned. Bella rolled her eyes. No, she decided. Lucius wasn't quite like a friend. He was more a constant, rather irritating background presence, quite similar to Narcissa, that she had somehow found herself stuck with. _Oh, _she thought, _I know. Like __family. _

Lucius, meanwhile, seemed to have taken her silence as a way of saying the unsayable. "He expelled you?" he asked, clearly shocked.

Bella grimaced. "No! He didn't expell me. But he was thinking about it. _Really_ thinking about it."

"But he didn't actually do it?" Lucius clarified.

"No. He gave me detention instead. Every day until the end of the year."

"Ouch." Lucius grimaced in sympathy.

"I know." She sighed. "It's just . . . I don't like how close he came to actually _doing _it. He was honestly considering it, I could tell . . . " She shuddered. She had never come that close to losing everything before. It wasn't a nice feeling. "And I kept thinking about things I shouldn't have while I was there, and I tried not to look him in the eye, but . . . . I don't know." She shivered. "The next Hogsmeade visit's is next week, isn't it? I think I should see . . . _him_ . . ." She was careful not to say the name out loud. You never knew who might be listening. "I have to do one detention with Dumbledore, every week," she continued. "I can't very well avoid eye contact the whole time, can I? He'll get suspicious, and that'll make things even _worse . . . ." _She shut her eyes and exhaled slowly. "We need to do something about it."

Lucius stared at her for a long moment, and then, slowly, he nodded. "I'll try," he said quietly. "I can't promise you anything."

"I know." Whether or not her master would agree to see her had little to do with Lucius, after all. So Lucius' agreement could mean something or nothing, really. And speaking of things which meant nothing . . . .

"By the way," she said icily, "For future reference, I don't care how desperate you are for an idea, or _how _concussed you are – your tongue has no place in my throat. Understood?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "It was a desperate situation, and I was _concussed," _he countered. "And you think I flatter myself," he added with a slight smirk.

Bella scowled and threw her handful of Gobstones at him. He only rolled his eyes as they bounced off his chest, and Bella was reminded of the thing she hated the most about Malfoy – the fact that nothing ever seemed to bother him. He was so emotionless. He was like a statue, in her opinion. He never seemed to care much about anything, and for someone like Bella, who felt passionately about _everything, _that was unbearable.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her expression. "Alright," he said indifferently. "In future, you can make the plans. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"And I look forward to seeing it," he continued, a mocking edge to his voice. Bella hurled some more Gobstones at him and for a moment he looked as though he might actually crack a smile. Then he was unexpectedly serious again.

"Your little sister is terrified of me," he said, frowning.

"So?" Bella scoffed. "She's terrified of _everyone. _She's even terrified of me. Hey, don't look at me like that!" she protested, as he looked at her askance. "I'm not joking, you know."

"Oh, I know. It's either extremely amusing or extremely worrying."

Bella scowled at that. "Well," she said slowly, "you can't talk, can you? _You_ look perfectly ridiculous." She gestured at him, at the thick black cloak wrapped up around his neck. "It's _May. _You look like a priest. What are you trying to do, mummify yourself?" She laughed, amused by her own joke. Lucius didn't. Then again, he rarely did. He was stiflingly serious, all the time. It was incredibly boring.

"Slughorn thinks we're going to elope together or something," she laughed. Lucius groaned.

"I know."

"Oh come on! Don't you find that funny? It's _fun, _having everyone think we're up to something scandalous. Don't you think?"

"Tedious is what it is," Lucius muttered. He yawned, inadvertently proving his point.

Bella sighed, stretching her legs. "Lucius, darling," she said dramatically, smothering the sudden urge to laugh again, "This is why it would never have worked between us. I'm sorry."

Lucius raised an eyebrow and put out a hand, pulling her gallantly to her feet. "Bellatrix – _darling -" _he said uncomfortably, shuddering a little - "don't give me nightmares."

Bella laughed. "That was almost funny," she said with a smile, poking him in the chest as she pulled her hand out of his. "_Almost." _

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**A / N : If anyone's wondering . . . no, your eyes do not decieve you, dear reader. That was indeed a Pirates of the Caribbean reference at the end. Jack Sparrow and Bella have a lot in common. Mainly eccentricity, endless energy and ingenuity, and debatable sanity. (Hmm . . . . they could be an interesting ship, actually. Ha.)**

**I hope this makes Bella's attitude to Lucius and Narcissa in "Tangled" - and her relationships ****with both of them - a little clearer as well, for readers of that fic. You know – quoting Rodolphus here - ****"She thinks ****that because she's known you for so long, and because Narcissa's the only member of her family left that she actually likes . . . well, she thinks she somehow **_**owns **_**you both. It irritates her, the idea that she can't control you." (Thanks Rodolphus. You can go now.) **

**Sarahwalker – Hey! Thanks for reviewing, it's always appreciated. And I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter even without the inclusion of Bellatrix. I switch viewpoints sometimes for dramatic purposes, sometimes to round out the story a little more and sometimes just on a whim. I tend to follow my instincts on things like that, but it's always great to hear that other people enjoyed the change, especially as I know a lot of my readers are more focused on Bella than the other characters who flit in and out of the story. I like the Rodolphus character a lot myself, and I enjoy playing around with foreshadowing where Lucius and Narcissa are concerned, seeing as they end up married! I find it endlessly entertaining. So entertaining I wrote a whole other fic about them, in fact . . . . but Bella and Rodolphus still end up appearing quite frequently. What can I say? I'm fond of them all, really. ****Thanks again for reviewing, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story! :) **


	9. Spotlight

**A / N : Sorry for the update delay, I've had a hundred and one things going on and I've hardly had time to write this, except in fits and starts. It's another long chapter though, so hopefully that makes up for the delay in some way. Hopefully. :P **

**The chapter is Snape POV, partly because I wanted to try it and partly because it needed to be. There are things that happen here which would make much less sense from another POV. I needed a less biased, outside perspective on Narcissa's mealtime behaviour, for example, and there is a misunderstanding at the end of the chapter that would be almost impossible to understand from the perspective of innocent, preoccupied Narcissa, or Bella, who arrives too late to realize she's doing the misunderstanding. In that particular instance, anyway. It's a POV that may never come up again though, so enjoy it while it's here . . . . To my Snape-hating readers . . . . erm, suffer through it? Sorry. :D**

**Chapter title was a nightmare to pick. "Spotlight" by Mute Math is what it ended up as, mainly for the lyric "you know ****the one thing you're fighting to hold, will be the one thing you've got to let go." Seemed a Severus sentiment. ;)**

**Anyway, enjoy. Chapter nine, in which Cissy causes a lot of people a lot of trouble, Bella proves that leopards don't change their spots, Lucius plays mind games with Molly (for those of you who noticed he kept Fabian's wand, this is why) and Severus gets girl trouble in spades. **

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**Spotlight**

Severus Snape was beginning to feel that women were the bane of his life. Granted, it hadn't been a particularly long life so far. But already, at thirteen, he had begun to feel he could trace all his problems directly or indirectly back to the women in his life. His mother was the most obvious example of this, and he was fairly sure he would resent her until the day he died. She'd married a Muggle. Not even a Mudblood. A _Muggle. _And for what? Why? They didn't even love each other, as far as Severus could tell, unless _love_ meant shouting and crying and hitting and hate. His whole life, trapped in that house, with his weak, pathetic mother and his father, and for that, he would never forgive her. He'd been a _wizard, _for crying out loud, and his mother was supposed to be a witch. Not that you'd know it most of the time, the way they lived. His most frequent interactions with magic had come from either stealing his mother's old school books or spying on Lily Evans. If he hadn't had Lily . . . . he firmly believed he would have gone mad. But she was another one. Why couldn't she have been a pureblood? Or even a half-blood, like him. It just wasn't _fair. _She had to be so sweet and selfless all the time, so contagiously happy, and she had wormed her way under his skin and somehow turned Hogwarts – the great escape, the thing he'd been dreaming about his whole life – into another type of hell. A place where he had to choose between Lily and the person he had wanted to be his whole life, someone strong, someone _powerful . . . . _Severus scowled. He didn't want an easy life. He didn't believe in those sorts of daydreams, but he didn't want to have to fight so hard for everything either. He was starting to get a bitter taste in his mouth, every time something good happened, because he knew it was only a matter of time before life dealt him another blow to make up for it.

Take Narcissa Black for instance, a new addition to the list of troublesome girls. What was she doing with him? What did she even see in him? It had been different with Mulciber and Avery - he'd had to fight tooth and nail to gain _their_ friendship. But Narcissa he couldn't comprehend. Her motives for wanting to be friends were a mystery to him. After all – she was pretty, she was rich, she wasn't really that airheaded (not half as bad as the other girls in their year, anyway) and most importantly, she was _pureblood. _She should have had friends coming out of her ears but somehow, she didn't. It was as if she looked in the mirror every day and saw something completely different. What she might be seeing, Severus didn't know. But he did know that someone like her – someone who'd been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, with everything that had been an unattainable dream to him his whole life – ought to be happy. And she sure as hell wasn't.

These were the slightly resentful thoughts running through the mind of a thirteen year old Severus Snape as he sat at the Slytherin table, toying with a forkful of kippers and scowling at Molly Prewett and Arthur Weasley, a ridiculously sappy Gryffindor couple who'd been discussing marriage with stomach-churning solemnity not too long ago.

"Arthur!" Prewett chirped, picking up a brown paper-wrapped parcel that was lying next to her plate. "You shouldn't have!"

Weasley frowned at her. "I didn't, Molls."

Prewett giggled. Clearly she didn't believe him. She ripped open the package with a huge smile, and then her face fell. Severus moved the milk jug to the left, squinting to see what had upset her so much. He frowned. Someone had sent her a wand.

"But . . but this is Fabian's," Prewett said after a moment. "I don't understand . . . why would someone send me Fabian's wand? What . . why . . . . what's happened to him?" She had begun to shake.

Weasley's gaze, meanwhile, had fallen upon a discarded copy of the morning's paper. His eyes widened in horror and he pushed it into his girlfriend's hands. Prewett read the article he was pointing at, burst into tears, and fled, Weasley hot on her heels. Spying a copy of the Daily Prophet lying near him on his own table, Severus reached for it, suddenly curious.

"Can I borrow this?" he asked.

The owner of the paper - Lucius Malfoy – yawned, looking him up and down. He seemed to be in an unusally good humour. "Why not? Charity begins at home," he drawled sarcastically. "Be my guest." He tossed the paper across the table and got to his feet, a malicious glint in his cold grey eyes. "I think it's served its purpose anyway."

He left the hall, laughing at a joke the younger boy couldn't comprehend. Severus was still reading through an article about the torturing of two aspiring young Aurors - "currently in a grave condition in St Mungos - and trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, when Narcissa Black dropped unexpectedly into the seat opposite him.

"Hey," he muttered.

"Hey," she replied unenthuasiastically, tossing a slice of toast onto her plate and slicing it in half rather viciously, as though it had personally offended her. She glared at her goblet full of pumpkin juice in much the same way, and then she raised a piece of toast to her lips. Severus watched, utterly mysified, as she suddenly lowered it, frowning intently, and began to cut it again - more slowly this time - into triangles. She frowned at the triangles too, with the air of an artist about to throw a fit, and then pushed them to one side, picking up another slice of toast. This one she cut into soldiers, which she aligned and all but measured when she was done, before drizzling honey artfully on top of each piece.

"Er . . . have you seen my Herbology book?" Severus asked, hoping the question might snap her out of this strange behaviour. "I can't find it."

Narcissa simply shook her head, lifting the top off a nearby teapot and scrutenizing its contents, as though considering adding it to her breakfast. Then again, she might have been searching for poison, for all Severus could tell. He watched her a few minutes longer, and then he cracked.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

Narcissa jumped. "Nothing," she said defensively. "What's that supposed to mean? I don't have a problem, if that's what you're saying!" She reddened, quickly picking up a slice of toast. She had taken no more than a bite, however, before she threw it back onto her plate, apparently repulsed by it. Severus stared.

"You seem a bit . . . I don't know. Annoyed," he said at last. _Demented. _

Narcissa scowled. "Bella thinks I have some kind of _problem," _she blurted out. Two pink spots had appeared high up on her cheeks, something that usually only occurred when Lucius Malfoy entered the room.

"What kind of problem?" Severus asked warily.

The blush spread right across Narcissa's face and down her neck. "She thinks – she thinks," she stammered, "that I don't eat. That I have some kind of problem with food. I mean, it's ridiculous, isn't it? I bet you never heard of anything more ridiculous in your life, because I mean, I don't have a problem. Well, I mean, obviously I don't have a problem." She laughed, a brittle, unnatural-sounding laugh. "You don't think I have a problem, do you?" she demanded, suddenly rounding on him.

"Er . ." he hesitated. What was he supposed to say to that? He settled instead for staring at Narcissa's plate. She hadn't touched any of her breakfast. Following his gaze, she frowned.

"That's different," she said automatically. "I'm angry. I can't eat when I'm angry. No-one can."

Severus opened his mouth, but whatever response he might have given her was swallowed as a shadow fell across his face.

"Move."

The icy voice belonged to a girl, and her voice was known to everyone in Slytherin House. Narcissa swallowed, turning an even more vivid shade of pink, and began to eat very quickly. Severus moved up automatically, clearing a space for her sister.

Bellatrix, however, did not sit down. "I said _move_," she said dangerously.

Severus frowned. "We were talking," he said uncertainly, glancing at Narcissa for support. But she had her eyes trained on her plate, her hair hiding her face.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at him. "And now," she said, "you're not. So move."

He stood up. Bellatrix smirked. "Scram," she said lazily, as though she were dismissing a dog. "Unless, of course, you have something to say?"

Severus swallowed, trying to decide if he was suicidal enough to answer back to Bellatrix Black. She was smirking again, delighting in his discomfort. He scowled, but that only made her smirk widen even more.

"Nothing?" she asked sweetly.

Severus opened his mouth. Then he noticed what Bellatrix couldn't see. Behind her back, Narcissa had raised her wand and vanished half the contents of her plate. The little girl then pushed her wand back up her sleeve and began to eat perfectly calmly, wearing a strangely triumphant smile. Something about it made Severus uneasy.

Bellatrix was still staring at him, waiting expectantly. So he shook his head. "No," he muttered. "Nothing."

* * *

The next day, Severus realized that he'd been right to feel uneasy about Narcissa.

They were sitting in Herbology. Usually, he felt sure Narcissa would have been teasing him for the scowl on his face. In fact, she would probably have accused him of "sulking" or something childish like that, because he still hadn't found his Herbology book. But not today. No. Today, she had simply dropped into her seat and wordlessly pushed her book across the table to him. They had scarcely spoken at all, since Monday's incident at the breakfast table. He had no idea what she'd been doing since then, but he had noticed that Bellatrix had taken to sitting beside her at every meal, watching her eat and wearing an expression that was downright terrifying. And Narcissa looked progressively more miserable at every meal. At the moment she was pale and drawn looking, hunched over and biting her lip. She looked as if she were in pain.

"Are you okay?" He had to ask.

Narcissa nodded tightly. "Fine," she said with a little gasp, folding her arms more tightly around her waist.

"You don't look fine," Severus said sceptically.

Narcissa groaned. "My stomach hurts," she murmered at last.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "A stomach ache? That's it? Well there's no need to be such a – are you _crying?" _

"N – no." Narcissa gasped again, biting her lip. "It _hurts," _she whimpered.

Severus frowned. "Then go to the hospital wing," he said. The obvious suggestion.

Narcissa shook her head vehemently. "I'm fine," she insisted, though her pained tone made this statement a little reduntant.

Severus' frown deepened. "The last time you said that," he reminded her, "you fell down a flight of stairs and broke your leg." It was something that still bothered him, though Narcissa had ordered him to forget about it, claiming she couldn't even remember him telling her to go to the hospital wing, and had no idea how she had come to fall down the stairs. "I think you should go to the hospital wing," he said. "Really. Don't be such a martyr about it. Just go and get a healing potion."

"No! You don't understand! I can't go there!" Narcissa began to breathe very quickly, her eyes wide and panicked. "Just talk to me," she pleaded. "Distract me. _Please, _Snape!"

He sighed. Girls. They were almost more trouble than they were worth. Almost.

"Does it really hurt that much?" he asked incredulously.

In reply, Narcissa reached out and seized his wrist, digging her fingernails into his arm. She had a surprisingly firm grip, for such a small person. "It's like knives ripping at my insides," she whispered fiercely. "If you don't say something to distract me I'm going to fall on these pruning shears and _die!"_

"Er . . ." He frowned at her. She seemed to be serious. Slowly, he prised the shears out of her other hand. "How about I do the pruning," he suggested, "and you do the repotting."

Narcissa let go of his arm and buried her face in her hands, groaning in despair. "If you don't do something to distract me," she warned, "I'll fall on – on-" - she cast her gaze about the table, looking for something suitably lethal to use in her hypothetical suicide attempt.

Severus smirked. "On what?" he challenged. "That watering-can? Death by watering-can." He sniggered. "Well, it might go down in history as the tackiest way to die, but-" He froze as she doubled over again, whimpering. "Alright, alright!" he said quickly. "Don't start crying, whatever you do. Tell me about . . . I don't know. Your sister."

Narcissa blinked. "Bella?" she said uncertainly. "What about her?"

Severus shrugged. "What's wrong with her?"

"What do you mean?" Narcissa asked, apparently confused.

Severus rolled his eyes. "She tried to kill you a few nights ago," he pointed out.

Narcissa turned, if possible, even paler. "Who told you that?"

"Avery. He said she nearly broke your neck. And the story is all over the common room." His lip curled. "You can't _move_ without hearing someone give their version of events or speculate on why she did it."

"Why do they think she did it?" Narcissa asked, wild panic in her voice.

Severus shrugged. "I don't know," he muttered. "It's not like I listen. I don't know why Avery was even talking about it."

"Oh." Narcissa hesitated. "Is Avery the dark-haired one who always looks like he wants to hit something? I always get them confused . . . "

Severus gave a contemptuous snort. It was a naive but fairly accurate description. "No, that's Mulciber. Avery is the other one."

"Oh." Narcissa was silent for a beat. Then she swallowed. "I feel a bit better now," she said tentatively. She pulled the book they were sharing towards her and squinted at the margins.

"Did you write in my book?" she asked, shocked.

Severus shrugged. "They're only notes," he replied. "It's not as if I drew a unicorn in it," he added disgustedly.

Narcisssa blushed. "I _like _unicorns," she protested. "And you didn't have to write all over its face, you know." She sighed, staring wistfully at the page. "It took me ages to do the head. I was going to charm the ink too, to make it gold, like a real baby unicorn . . ."

Severus stared at her.

"And you wonder," he said, recovering at last, "why you're no good at Herbology . . . ."

* * *

"Can we talk?"

Lily stopped walking and turned around. "I'm talking to someone already," she said uncertainly. Mary McDonald scowled at him.

Severus scowled right back at her. There was no love lost between Lily's two closest friends, and Severus never wanted there to be. He couldn't stand Mary McDonald. "So send her away," he said to Lily.

"Sev!" his friend cried, appalled. "You can't just tell me to send someone away! That's . . . that's . ." She trailed off, apparently too shocked to speak.

"It's important," Severus told her.

Mary McDonald scowled at him, and then at Lily, when she realized her friend was wearing a trapped and unhappy expression. "Fine!" she snapped. "Talk to him. I don't care. I'll see you in the common room."

Severus couldn't quite resist sending a smirk her way as she flounced off. It was sheer bad luck that Lily caught him doing it. Her expression froze, just a little, and she folded her arms.

"What did you do that for?" she asked. "Mary didn't do anything to you."

Severus shrugged. "What does it matter?"

"It _matters, _because she's my friend." Lily was using her icy tone again. "And you don't even pretend to like her for my sake. She's nice really, you know," she offered next, in a more conciliatory tone. "She's just got . . . problems, at home and things. She's not very good at trusting people. But she's a good person, underneath it all. If you just made the effort, you'd see-"

Severus felt his face heat up. "Is that what you tell _her?" _he demanded. "About me? "Oh he's a good person _really, _Mary, he's just got _problems" _. . . . well thanks a lot!"

Lily stared at him for a moment. "I don't tell her anything about you," she said at last.

"Yeah, right."

"It's true."

"I'm sure it is." Severus had no idea what they might all be telling each other up in _Gryffindor Tower, _but he tended to picture them all laughing uproariously around a cosy fire. Potter and Black probably provided impressions as entertainment . . . .

He jumped as Lily nudged him back into the present. "You said you wanted to talk," she reminded him.

Severus nodded. He didn't quite trust himself to look her in the eye just yet. He'd always had the disturbing feeling that Lily could see straight through him, and his Gryffindor Tower fantasy was proving hard to shake. He felt his face burn again at the idea.

"Not here," he muttered.

Lily groaned. "Then where?" she asked, exasperated. He sometimes had the feeling Lily's patience might not be infinite, sometimes wondered if one day, she would get sick of him.

So he turned on his heel and began to head towards the forest. As usual, Lily followed him, though she hung back nervously as they stepped into the shade, apparently unwilling to venture any deeper into the Forest. Severus turned back to face her, an involuntary smirk on his face.

"Don't tell me you're scared," he said incredulously. "You're supposed to be the Gryffindor!" Normally, he hated mentioning her house. But he couldn't deny that this was funny.

Lily shook her head. "I'm not _scared!" _she said fiercely, though her apprehensive expression seemed to refute this. She took a dubious step forward, and then another, and another, until she was level with him. "There!" she said triumphantly, touching the nearest tree trunk as if for luck. She hooked her arms around a branch and began to swing back and forth, laughing and stirring the leaves of the tree so that sunlight spilled through, sporadically striking her face. Sunlight had always suited Lily – it made her hair shine and turned her skin a healthy, glowing pink. Sunlight had never suited Snape. It made him feel hot and irritable and uncomfortable, it made him squint and made it hard to see properly, so that he never noticed someone was creeping up on him. Not until it was too late.

"It's quite nice in here, really," Lily said cheerfully. "As long as you don't go too far in."

"Yeah . ." Severus kicked the moss beneath his feet, watching as an upturned stone sent an earthworm flying. He squashed it beneath his shoe. A nearby bird took flight in fright and Severus scowled. Nature. That was another thing he had always hated. Nature, and sunlight, and Quidditch and . . . .

"You said you wanted to talk," Lily reminded him again, studying him carefully. "You said it was important," she prompted.

Severus shrugged. It was important, or he had the feeling it was, anyway. But he didn't have the faintest idea of how he ought to go about asking the questions he wanted to ask. Lily watched him for a long moment with a patient, pitying expression. Then she swung gracefully onto a higher branch and began to walk along it, musing out loud while he tried to work out what to say.

"You know," she said dreamily, "sometimes I really wish I could fly. Without a broomstick or anything . . . . if I could just . . . _fly."_

Severus scowled again. "Is that why you're so obsessed with Quidditch these days?" he asked irritably.

Lily turned a shade of pink he was almost sure wasn't sun-related. "I'm not _obsessed," _she said feebly.

Severus rolled his eyes. "No, of course not," he said acerbically. _"Oh wow, Sev, did you see the Quidditch match yesterday?" _he mimicked in a high-pitched, girly voice. "_ I mean, wow, I don't __even __**like **__Potter, but he's so good for the team, I thought we were out of the running for the Cup for __**sure, **__and then he just swooped in and grabbed the Snitch and WOW -" _

"Shut up!" Lily threw a fistful of leaves at him, laughing as they scattered across his shoulders and lodged themselves in his hair. "You're _horrible _sometimes," she said, as he shook his head to dislodge the leaves.

He raised an eyebrow. "Only sometimes?" he queried.

Lily blushed. "Sometimes you can be nice," she admitted. "When you're not so worried about what everyone else thinks, and you can just be _you. _The way you used to be."

_When it was just the two of us. _The unspoken implication made them both uncomfortable. After a moment, Lily began to walk along the branch again, twirling her wand in her hand.

"I just think it would be nice," she said distantly, continuing her earlier train of thought, "if I could fly up and up and up, you know? To see the whole world spread out below me and to see how _tiny _it all is . . ." She waved her wand, conjuring ribbons that flew from its tip and draped themselves elegantly across the branches, like party streamers.

"Tiny fields . . ."

Green ribbons.

"Tiny houses . . ."

Gold ribbons.

"Tiny people . . ."

Red ribbons.

"Lily!"

Severus' cry of warning came too late. Lily's foot slipped and she tumbled off the branch with a shriek. Severus was at her side in an instant. Disregarding all the careful rules he usually set himself – don't look at Lily for too long, don't touch her unless she touches you first, don't let her see how much you really care about her, about life, about _everything –_ he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her to her feet, holding on tight.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Lily? Lily!"

Lily stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide and her mouth open, and he felt seized by a sudden desire to kiss her. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and Lily stared at him, until he realized that he was still holding onto her, much too tightly.

"I'm fine," she murmered. "Honestly Sev. I'm fine. See?" She pulled a leaf from her hair and smiled as he released her.

"Yeah. Right. Sorry." His face was hot again. He had made a fool of himself. _Again. _

Lily watched him for a moment, her head cocked to one side, as though waiting for him to say something. Maybe . . . maybe he really hadn't been imagining things. Maybe she really had wanted him to -

"You said you wanted to ask me something," Lily reminded him, interrupting this unlikely fantasy.

"Oh, yeah . . ." Severus frowned, trying to recall his original purpose. He liked Narcissa, even if he wasn't sure _why, _but it was almost impossible to think about her around Lily. Narcissa was like a lamp in the dark, she could make him smile, sometimes, and she could be funny. But Lily was like the sun and no-one notices the light of a lamp at noon. Dragging his mind back to Narcissa with an effort, he decided to just come out and ask.

"You're a girl, right?" he asked.

Lily rolled her eyes. "No, Sev," she said jokingly. "I'm a boy taking Polyjuice Potion. What do you think?"

He had made a fool of himself, again. It was happening more and more lately. Especially this year, when for the first time he had become acutely aware of the fact that, yes, Lily was a _girl._

"Sorry," he muttered. "What I meant was, you know how girls' minds work. Why they go on diets and stuff . . . "

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Diets?" she asked, confused. "Well, usually they just want to lose weight. Petunia is always going on diets, though, and she doesn't even need to. Really _ridiculous _diets too, like only eating cabbage soup or grapefruit quarters or artichoke heads for a week . . . it's just a phase though, and she usually gives up after a few days."

Severus stared. "Er . . okay." Yet more reasons to question the sanity of the oppostite sex. "So she hates food?" he clarified. "And that's normal?" _Insane. Completely insane. _

Lily frowned. "No," she said, confused. "Not exactly . . . . Why? Who's on a diet?"

Severus reddened. "No-one," he said quickly.

"Narcissa Black," his friend said shrewdly. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Lily didn't look pleased. In fact, she looked upset. "Sev," she contiued uneasily, "that's not good. She's _twelve. _And she's tiny. The last thing she needs is not to eat."

Severus frowned. "I think she's thirteen now. And I thought you didn't like her. "

Lily waved this aside. "Oh I didn't mean that. It was nothing," she said quickly. "I was just being silly." She bit her lip. "I'm being serious though, Sev. That's _not _good. Do you-" she hesitated. "Do you want me to try and talk to her?"

Honestly. Girls. What was wrong with them? One minute they hated each other and the next, they were chumming up to lend support. Baffled, Severus shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said carefully.

"Why not? Because you don't trust me to help her?"

"No! Because . . . I just don't think it's a good idea, that's all. She wouldn't like it. It's . . . she's not like me. She wouldn't . . .. I mean, I'm lucky she even talks to _me_."

"Oh. Right. I see." There was a pause. "I think I should go," Lily said suddenly, avoiding his eye. "I'm late for Charms. See you later, Severus." She turned and hurried away, her cheeks flaming.

"Lily, wait! Come on, you know I didn't mean .. ." But it was too late. The words, shouted at her retreating back, weren't enough to make her stop. Severus scowled. She'd probably calm down after a bit and come back, once she realized she couldn't possibly blame him for Narcissa's views. He turned over a stone with his shoe, scowling again.

Probably.

* * *

It was another hot, sunny day. Typical.

Severus was sitting by the lake, trying to cram an extra three paragraphs of his Defence Against The Dark Arts essay into an inch of parchment. Narcissa lay on the grass beside him. Having abandoned her own essay on the grounds that it was "too hard", she was now drawing heart shapes on her fingertips in purple ink and stamping a pattern along her opposite arm. Severus rolled his eyes. He had always thought of Lily – a girl too soft-hearted to kill so much as a spider, who spent most her time getting offended about feelings and reading love stories – as a girly girl. Then he met Narcissa, and realized he hadn't even known the _meaning_ of the phrase. Sometimes he found himself thinking she ought to sprinkle pink glitter over her shoulder with every step she took, as a warning. When she wasn't squirming over Potions ingredients or Herbology assignments, she could usually be found dwelling on the scintillating subject of Lucius Malfoy, who she seemed to find immensely interesting. Long, one-sided conversations about him were her favourite way to pass the time. Even worse, she somehow managed to take Severus' stoic silences and non-committal head movements as agreement, a delusion that did absolutely nothing to cure her of this habit. Severus knew, of course, that he could make her stop if he really wanted to. But he didn't want to upset Narcissa. It wouldn't be any fun, and besides . . . . he had to admit, it didn't feel terrible to be trusted with a secret not even her sister knew. He just wished it was a more interesting secret. Lucius Malfoy? What was so special about him? He was rich, of course, and pureblood, but then again – so was Mulciber. So was Avery. So was _she. _

"Why do you like him so much?" he asked suddenly.

Narcissa closed her eyes, reclining on the grass and turning her wrists up, so that the ink would dry faster. "Who?" she asked distantly.

"Lucius Malfoy."

The little girl opened her eyes, and frowned at him. "I don't know," she admitted. "I mean, it's not as if he even notices me most of the time." She sighed. "I could probably drop down dead in front of him and he wouldn't notice," she said sadly, and Severus wondered, briefly, if _this_ was why he liked Narcissa. Because they were both helplessly fixated on people hopelessly beyond their reach. It was a disconcerting thought.

As usual, his discomfort passed under Narcissa's radar, unnoticed. She was staring at the sky, contemplating. "No," she said at last. "I really don't know why I like him. I think," she said slowly, "I _think _it started when Bella started spending all this time with him, and he was sort of . . . . sort of like something else to focus on, when I was worried about Bella and she wasn't telling me _anything _and I was beginning to think I might go mad. And then I started to feel . . . happy, whenever I saw him. He didn't even have to do anything. He just made me feel better for some reason. I still feel like that. The day just feels better if he's in it." She paused. "Haven't you ever had anyone you felt like that about?"

Severus thought for a moment. He thought of Lily, of vivid green eyes and vibrant red hair and infectious laughter that seemed to get under his skin somehow.

_Me or you. _

_Truth or lies. _

_Fly or fall. _

"No," he said at last. "I haven't."

Narcissa blinked. "Oh. Well, maybe I really am mad . . ."

"Mad? Now that's a strong word, Cissy. Tell me, why would you say a thing like that?"

Narcissa gasped, turning bright pink, and Severus inadvertently knocked his own inkpot over, jumping a little himself at the unexpected third voice. How long had Bellatrix been standing there? He hadn't even heard her approach, and that was unusual in itself. Bellatrix Black usually preferred to arrive with a bang, and he found himself wondering, dimly, who'd been giving her lessons in stealth.

"I . . . I . . . we were just talking, Bella! Not about anything important, I swear!" Cissy stammered, still a guilty-looking shade of pink. "I mean, not about anything _interesting_ . . . . " She dropped her gaze, looking as if she wanted to sink into the ground and disappear.

Severus groaned internally. Clearly, Narcissa didn't have a clue how to stonewall. Did she realize she was making it look as if she was guilty of something? Bellatrix's suspicions had apparently been raised already, whether she had heard the beginnings of the conversation or not. Her gaze travelled from Cissy's pink cheeks to the lovehearts drawn on her arm and then to Severus, sitting not two feet away. Her expression darkened.

"Slughorn's looking for you, Cissy," she said coldly. "Actually, I think he said something about how you haven't been present in your last two Potions classes as well . . he's been trying to find you for days, apparently."

Narcissa's face now looked as though it had caught fire. It quite possibly couldn't get much redder. "I didn't miss them deliberately," she protested. "I -"

Bellatrix interrupted her. "Cissy? I really don't care."

"Oh. Right." Narcissa leapt to her feet, stuffing her school things back into her satchel. "Bye," she muttered, glancing at Snape. "Thanks," she said quickly, as Bellatrix's gaze fell upon her again.

She turned and hurried away, but as Severus got up and made to follow her back into the castle, Bellatrix stopped him, holding up a hand.

"What's your hurry?" she asked languidly. "Stay. Let's talk, hmm?" Her voice was very calm, but she was watching him intently, and something about it made him uneasy.

He shrugged, watching her warily, trying to guess her game. Bellatrix Black stopping by for a casual chat with a younger student, after all, was as frequent an occurrence as scarlet rain. She wanted something. Or she was planning something . . . she had to be.

"So," she said, snapping Severus out of his reverie and tapping her wand against her palm as she thought aloud, "you like my sister. Don't you?"

"Er . . . ." Was that a trick question? What was he supposed to say? Bellatrix's face betrayed no hint of what the correct answer might be. "Well . . . . she's nice, I suppose," Severus muttered. "She's . . . ." _Clever? Not really. Funny? Not intentionally .. . _"Pretty," he decided at last, thoughtlessly uttering the first thing that popped into his head. "She's sweet." He cringed. That was an embarrassing thing to admit to liking about a girl. "She likes me more than I like her," he said defensively.

For a moment, he thought Bellatrix's eyes might fall out of her head. She collected herself with obvious difficulty, and Severus suddenly realized he might have done more than just humiliate himself this time. But before he could try to rectify the situation, she had stepped fowards, her eyes blazing.

"Oh _good," _she said in an unconvincingly friendly tone. "This should be simple then."

Before Severus could ask _what _should be simple, she had taken another step forward and seized him by the collar, pulling it tight and lifting him half off his feet.

"You don't touch my sister," she ordered, as he gasped and choked, scarcely able to breathe. "Do you understand that? You don't _ever _touch my sister. Or I swear I'll make you regret it."

"You . . . you wouldn't," Severus choked out at last. "I'm not stupid, everyone knows you were nearly expelled for what you did to Narcissa . . . they'd kick you out. You wouldn't . . ."

"Oh no?" Her wand moved to his throat almost inhumanly quickly. Her hand shook as she gouged the wood into his neck. "Wouldn't I? _Don't -" _- she pulled the fabric of his collar even tighter - "don't _ever _tell me what I would or wouldn't do for my sister, you filthy little half-blood!" She swallowed, breathing hard. She no longer looked completely sane. "Cissy's a good girl," she continued. "And I _will not _let her turn out a blood traitor. Do you understand what I'm telling you?" She gave a contemptuous snort. "Expelled? You honestly think I'd care about that? Let me make this very clear, then. If you turn my sister into a blood traitor – any kind of blood traitor – I kill you myself." She didn't seem to be joking. "You can talk to her, until she gets bored of you, but you don't touch her. _Ever. _Understand?"

Unable to nod without inadvertently garrotting himself, Severus waved his arms frantically at his neck. As soon as Bellatrix had loosened her grip a little, he gasped out an answer.

"Alright, alright! I'm not allowed to touch her. I understand." He allowed himself an extra lungful of air, in case she began strangling him again, and continued. "I won't touch her. I promise."

"Really?" Bellatrix said cynically. "You _promise? _Funny, I somehow doubt your word counts for much, _half-blood. _You can't even decide if you're one or the other. How can anyone trust you? Maybe I should make you take the Unbreakable Vow," she mused. "Just to be safe . . ."

"You can if you want," Severus snapped impatiently, riled by the insult. "Or you could just believe me. I like your sister, but she's not worth _dying_ for. She's not that special. Ow!"

Fast as a whip, Bellatrix had slapped him across the face. Then she paused, thinking about what he'd just said. Suddenly, she smiled.

"Good! Then we don't have a problem, do we?" She dropped him and pushed him away from her, laughing as he fell to the ground. Her smile widened as he set his mouth in an angry slash and curled his fists into a ball, resentment seething in his stomach. She was still watching him, and he didn't have to be a mind-reader to know that she could see his anger. Or to realize that she was thoroughly enjoying it.

"Good," she said softly. "_Very _good."

* * *

**A / N : The part of the conversation Bellatrix heard, if anyone's wondering, went from the middle of Narcissa's sentence, from "felt like that about". She doesn't know her sister was talking about Lucius and has absolutely no idea the long pause before Severus' answer was related to Lily. So she jumped to a conclusion based on who was there, and misconstrued the whole thing. **


	10. Bang The Doldrums

**A / N : Yes! Login problems are over and I can post this! **

**Anyway – Bella's back, and bitchier than ever . .. . but do we really love her any other way? **

**Sorry for the update delay, (feels like I say that a lot these days) but to make amends, this is officially the longest chapter I have ever written, so I hope you all enjoy it! **

**Molly's line in Charms I owe to Daring D . . . . because I just couldn't resist. It was so appropriate. :)**

**Chapter title is from the song by Fall Out Boy, reviews are treasured . . . and I think that's about all I have to say! :D**

* * *

**Bang The Doldrums **

She was bleeding.

Bellatrix watched a bright blob of scarlet bead upon her fingertip and swell slowly into a single shining droplet, which wobbled precariously for a moment before it fell, splashing onto the sharp silver contours of the name T.M Riddle.

It was stupid, really.

The name held no particular meaning, after all. It wasn't even a pureblood name. But there was something strangely familiar about it. She felt, somehow, as if she ought to know what its meaning was, ought to know why the name danced just beyond her comprehension and frustrated her with its echoing familiarity. There was something forbidden about it, and for a moment Bella felt like a child again, bewildered by the results of her own unscrupulous eavesdropping into conversations about sex and violence and family feuds. But Riddle was no-one. Riddle was _nothing. _And Bella simply couldn't account for the jolt seeing his name had given her.

She was tired, she decided at last. Her detention with Filch was coming to an end, and she was hungry. Really, it was more likely that she had cut her finger – the sting awakening her from a sleep-walking stupor of boredom – and _then _noticed the name.

She wiped the blood away hastily with her sleeve and shoved the award roughly back onto the shelf, trying to ignore the nagging voice in her head that told her that wasn't right, that told her she had seen the name first, and cut herself at the shock of it. She touched a fingertip to the strange initials again, lost in thought, and then she pulled herself together.

"There you go," she called aloud, a bite of irritation in her voice. "Squeaky clean! Can I go now?"

She had picked up her satchel and was halfway to the Great Hall before Filch had time to reply.

These detentions were proving to be more exhausting than even she had anticipated, Bella realized, falling into a chair opposite Narcissa at the table. Honestly. She was cracking up. She was silent for a moment, considering this, and then she narrowed her eyes at Narcissa, tapping her fork impatiently against the side of her plate. Her sister took the hint at once and began to eat more quickly, avoiding her eye.

"I _hate _this place," Bella declared. "Who do they think they are? Detention, I can understand. But _detention with a Squib? _Do they even know how disgusting that is?"

Silence.

Bella scowled. "Cissy," she snapped. "I'm talking to you. Don't ignore me."

Narcissa jumped. "Wh – what?" she stammered.

"I was talking to you," Bella repeated, frowning.

As she had suspected, Narcissa wasn't foolish enough to disobey a direct order from her sister. So when Bellatrix told her to eat, she ate. The problem was how strange she became while doing it. Bella had told Lucius, once, that it didn't bother her to see Narcissa cry. That wasn't strictly true. Cissy seemed permanently on the brink of tears these days, and it made her feel unjustly guilty, though it wasn't as if she had anything to feel guilty_ about._ She was only making her sister eat, and Cissy might not like it now, but one day she'd realize it was all for her own good. Bella pulled a nearby steak-and-kidney pie towards her, deciding it was best to pretend she couldn't see Narcissa's pathetic attempts not to cry at the dinner table, and to ignore the unsettled feeling this gave her.

So Bella focused her attention on a pepperpot to Narcissa's left, and pretended she couldn't see Cissy sniffling into her soup.

* * *

By the time Wednesday arrived, Bella was starting to think she might keel over with exhaustion, or genuinely crack and do something insane, like burn the school to the ground in her sleep. Her every waking hour, after all, was filled with class or some form of detention, and her nights were spent awake in the common room, frantically filling rolls of parchment with essays on giant wars and rare potions, or reading books about curses. She was starting to feel as if her head would explode soon, all the complex curses and asinine facts spurting from her ears like a water from the burst pipe of a fountain. She had never felt so overwhelmed by anything in her life, and it wasn't a feeling she liked. The trouble was, there was nothing she felt she could compromise on. As a result, she found herself scribbling essays at the breakfast table, keeping one eye on Cissy and mistakenly inserting words like "kippers" and "porridge" and "tea" into essays about Protean Charms and Manticores. She had briefly considered ordering Lucius to help her, but then he would know just how much she was struggling, and the thought of his "I told you so" smirk was maddening. That, she decided, was too high a price to pay for whatever help he could give her. Besides, she relied upon Lucius for too much already, and the sooner it stopped, the happier she'd be. The last thing she wanted was for Malfoy to persist with this mistaken belief of his, that she somehow _needed _him. Bella needed no-one, or so she liked to think.

By Wednesday evening, Bella was beginning to think she might have been a little hasty in this assumption. _A trained squad of hit-wizards would come in handy right about now,_ she thought miserably, _to take out half the staff. _

"I hateMcGonagall," she declared, seizing a first-year by the ear and turfing him out of an armchair in the common room so that she could collapse into it, utterly drained.

Lucius looked up. "I agree," he said stiffly, waving his wand and clearing a space on the table so that Bella could begin her homework. She rewarded his efforts with a scowl.

"I _hate _her," she repeated venemously, then she hesitated. "Why are you agreeing with me?" she asked suspiciously.

Lucius shrugged. "I once overheard her telling Flitwick she had no idea why _Albus-" _- his lip curled - "made me a prefect. I've been rather vehemently opposed to the woman ever since."

"Oh, I see." Bella pulled out her Transfiguration textbook, glowered at it, and then frowned at Lucius. "Why _did_ Dumbledore make you a prefect?"

"I'm not sure," Lucius admitted. "It involved a rather strange speech about choices and directions in life . . . . . To be honest, I'm not sure I understood a word of it."

Bella stared at him. "Let me guess," she said at last. "You smiled and nodded and pretended you did anyway."

Lucius frowned, genuinely baffled. "Of course. I wasn't going to tell him I had no idea what he was on about. I'm not an idiot, you know."

Bella smothered a laugh. "Of course not. Where's Cissy?" she asked suddenly. "Did you see her at supper?"

Lucius stared. "No," he said slowly, mystified. "Why would I be looking for your sister at supper?"

"I asked if you saw her, idiot, not if you were looking for her. I'm not an imbecile, I know you wouldn't be _looking for her. _That would make absolutely no sense."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "I believe that's her over there," he said lightly. He pointed at Bella's usual seat in the far corner of the room, and at the fair-haired little girl curled up in it, nervously chewing her fingernails. She seemed to be talking to someone. A boy with lank hair and hunched shoulders.

Bella caught her eye and glared at her until Cissy got the message and made her way slowly over to the fireplace.

"Hi, Bella," she said nervously.

Bellatrix did not bother to return the greeting. "I didn't tell you to bring the half-blood," she said irritably. "Did I?"

Snape turned to go, his neutral expression curdling faster than sour milk. To both their shock, however, Narcissa grabbed him by the wrist.

"We were talking," she said determinedly. To her credit, only her lower lip was wobbling. "He was helping me with my homework," she continued. "I can't do it without him."

Even Bellatrix's glare seemed unable to deter her, so Bella gave in with bad grace. "Fine," she snapped. "Let him stay, if you want him to so badly." She watched Cissy sit down on the sofa and tug Snape down beside her.

Lucius smirked as he dipped his quill into the inkpot on the table and continued with his essay. He seemed to find Narcissa's insubordination faintly amusing, something that horrified Bella. Lucius had no sense of humour, after all, and this wasn't even _funny. _Cissy did not appear to notice. She was chewing her lip, busy trying to decipher an essay so long the parchment fell off her lap and trailed onto the floor. Every few minutes she stopped and asked Snape to explain something to her. Bella watched them for a moment, seething, and then she realized there was a better way to get rid of her anger.

"I _hate _McGonagall," she said loudly, leaning back comfortably in her chair and focusing her attention on Cissy. "I can't believe she made me late for supper."

Cissy tensed, and Snape's eyes flickered briefly towards her.

Bella narrowed her eyes at her sister. "I'm surprised you haven't mentioned it," she said quietly. "After all, I thought we agreed that you'd wait for me after my detentions. You must have been waiting an awfully long time. You were probably starving."

"I wasn't," Cissy muttered, a faint flush of pink creeping up past her collarbone. "It's fine."

"Mm." Bella gave a contemptuous snort, unconvinced. "Well, I was. So I went to the kitchens to get us some food. One of us has to have some common sense, surely. Here you go." She put a hand into her schoolbag and pulled out a wrapped parcel of sandwiches. "Don't say I'm not good to you."

"I'm not hungry."

Bella sat up a little straighter, irritated. "Of course you're hungry. Did you see her eat anything?" she snapped at Snape. He jumped, caught off guard by the question.

"What?"

"It's a simple question. Did you see her eat? Yes . . . . or no." Bellatrix glared at him, hoping to communicate the consequences of lying to the little brat. He was skating on thin ice as it was. Sooner or later, it would break . . . _and if you lie to me, it'll break a lot faster. _

Snape seemed to comprehend the consequences of lying very well. He touched a hand unconsciously to his throat, and then he swallowed . . . and shook his head.

Bella smiled. "Good. That wasn't so hard, was it? I do hate liars," she mused. "Eat, Cissy," she ordered, tossing the sandwiches into her sister's lap with a dangerous smile.

Cissy closed her eyes as though praying for mercy, or hoping to wake up from a nightmare. When she opened them again, and saw that the food was still there and they were all still staring expectantly at her, she looked ready to cry.

"I can't help but feel I'm missing something here," Lucius interrupted, making everyone jump.

"You're not missing anything. Mind your own business," Bella ordered. "There isn't a problem, is there Cissy?"

Narcissa stared at her. She couldn't have looked more tortured if Bellatrix had filled her shoes with hot coals. Her gaze flickered from Bella to Snape and landed briefly on Lucius. She shook her head mutely, and then she picked up the sandwich and took a bite, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Good," Bella muttered, ignoring the resentful look Snape was now sending her, and the strange one Lucius was wearing. "Pass the ink, Lucius. I need to finish this essay or that toad McGonagall will have me doing detentions in my sleep."

* * *

"You said you would help me," Bella hissed furiously.

Lucius arched an eyebrow. "So I recall," he said dryly.

Bella kicked him under the table, ignoring the reproving look Professor Flitwick sent her. "It's been _days," _she continued. "I don't believe you haven't heard anything by now."

"I haven't," Lucius said irritably, narrowing his eyes at Weasley and Prewett, who were occupying the desk in front of the two Slytherins and gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. Unsurprisingly, Flitwick couldn't be bothered to rebuke _them. _Bella scowled. All the anti-Slytherin bias in this school was sickening. Perhaps Lucius was rubbing off on her, but for once she found herself agreeing with him - Hogwarts really was going to the dogs. It didn't help that every teacher with an ounce of talent was in thrall to that muggle-loving moron Dumbledore and believed the whole of Slytherin house were a bunch of good-for-nothing troublemakers. (Bella's own anti-Dumbledore bias had increased tenfold in recent days.)

"Oh Arthur," Prewett whispered, interrupting this satisfyingly embittered train of thought, "you know you've always held my heart!"

Lucius choked. Weasley payed him no attention. He turned radish red instead and squeezed Prewett's hand in an amorous, affectionate manner.

Bella glowered at the pair of them, hoping to convey silent disgust at their behaviour. It backfired on her, however, when they failed to notice her at all. Lucius was still staring at them himself, in a sort of revolted horror, when Bella kicked him again.

"Stop paying attention to them," she snapped, "and pay attention to me, why don't you? Give me an answer! Will he see me or not?"

Lucius pulled his guinea pig towards him and raised his wand, transforming it into a miniature croquet set. He admired his handiwork for a moment, until Bella pointed her wand at it, smiled sweetly, and blew the croquet set to bits.

He sighed. "I can't give you an answer I don't have," he said. "You'll just have to be patient."

Bella glared at him. "Do I look patient to you?" she snapped. "Some of us actually have blood in our veins, Malfoy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lucius snapped back.

Bella got to her feet, jamming her books back into her bag in an bad mood. "It means," she retaliated, "that some of us move at a less glacial pace than the Black Lake, Lucius. I want an answer, and I want one soon."

She stormed out of the room just as the bell clanged to signal the end of class. Flitwick, crushed by the stampede of students hurrying to the door, scarcely had time to utter a squeak of protest at her early departure, and Lucius was much too slow to follow her. He simply cast her an irritated look and then seemed to dismiss the matter, entertaining himself instead by elbowing Weasley in the ribs.

"I want an answer," Bella muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs to today's detention, as if repeating this refrain would summon the desired reality somehow."And I want one now."

* * *

Dumbledore smiled at her. "Good evening, Miss Black."

Bellatrix crossed her arms and did her best to tame her foul temper a little, for appearance's sake. "Professor," she said curtly.

The Headmaster's indulgent smile widened a little. "Good evening, Miss Black," he repeated, in the tone of strained geniality her other detention-givers had long ago abandoned.

Bella scowled. "Good evening, Professor," she recited, annoyed. She sat down without waiting for him to offer her a seat, and stared stonily at him, daring him to reprimand her for her rudeness. The old man simply laughed, as though he found her insolence childish but amusing, and said nothing about it, which annoyed Bella all the more.

"And how are you this evening?" he asked.

Bellatrix scowled, in no mood to play games. "I'm annoyed," she snapped, calling his bluff.

Only to have him call hers in return. "Really?" the old man asked benignly, as if he honestly cared for the answer. "Why?"

"Because," Bella snapped, "I'm sick of the bias against Slytherin in this school. It sickens me." _There, _she thought triumphantly, _let's see what you say to that. _

Dumbledore frowned. For a moment he seemed genuinely disconcerted. "What bias?" he asked quietly. "That's quite a serious allegation, Miss Black."

"Well, it's true."

"How so?"

"Every teacher in this school thinks Slytherins are a waste of space," Bella retorted. "Even Slughorn keeps interfering with us these days, lecturing us on morality and taking points from his own House! As if every other teacher doesn't take enough already . . . . we have to work twice as hard to get points from a teacher in the first place, and five times as hard to keep them. Which is a novel exercise in motivation, I'm sure, but isn't really very _fair, _is it Professor? Not when some dunderheaded Hufflepuff can pass Professor Sprout a watering can and earn ten points, and any moronic Gryffindor who happens to be on the Quidditch team can walk into class the day after a game and get a miraculous amount of points for the most mundane answer. How is that fair? Giving people points because they're _good, _or better yet, _stupid . . ..._How is that fair? They haven't done anything to earn the privilege. Yet when a Slytherin _dares _to suggest that five hundred years of untainted ancestry might possibly warrant recognition . . . well. _That _goes down like a lead balloon, because oh no, that's _discrimination! _I've never heard such rubbish in my life," she snapped, breathing hard. "No-one respects Slytherin any more. Apparently we're not worthyof respect."

Dumbledore stared at her. Apparently, her answer had been more than he had bargained for.

"Have you considered," he said at last, "that perhaps respect is something that needs to be earned, Miss Black?"

"That's rubbish," Bella replied. "What more do we need to do to earn respect? Get down on our knees and beg? I _don't _think so. We're clever," she continued. "We're hard-working, for the most part, and motivated, and the things we want we tend to get. We're loyal to our own, and we're _proud. _This school shouldn't have a House system if those aren't qualities it values in its students. You see, it seems to me that whatever we do, it won't be good enough. If the fight isn't fair," she said passionately, "then why should we fight fairly?"

Dumbledore watched her intently for a minute. He no longer seemed to be very amused. "I don't believe," he said slowly, "that anyone mentioned a fight, Miss Black."

"Life is a fight," Bella retorted. "A fight to survive, a fight to make something of yourself, a fight to be remembered when you're gone."

Silence.

"I don't believe you're being particularly fair to me, Miss Black," Dumbledore said gravely. "Or to my school. Your Head of House, Professor Slughorn, was a Slytherin and is to this day a close friend and esteemed colleague of mine. And what of your friend, Mr Malfoy? It certainly seems to me that he commands more than enough respect. He is, after all, Head Boy."

Bella gave a contemptuous snort. "Only because he licked the shoes of every member of staff to get there," she said waspishly.

Dumbledore stared at her, until she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. On the one hand, she knew she ought to be avoiding eye contact with the old man . .. . on the other, her pride forbade her to look away and back down. The silence spiralled uncomfortably, and then a knock sounded suddenly on the door, and Bella jumped. (Annoyingly, Dumbledore did not. Did nothing faze the man? His constant, eerie calm reminded her of Lucius.)

"Come in," he called, still watching her with a troubled frown. Then his gaze left her face. Surprisingly, his frown remained. "Miss Black," he said curiously. "Well, this is a surprise."

Bella stared at him, mystified. "I'm over here. Professor."

Dumbledore chuckled, and another voice sounded.

"Hi Bella."

Bellatrix jumped again, twisting in her seat so quickly her neck ached. She rubbed the sore spot and glared at her sister.

"Cissy, you idiot, what are you doing here? I told you to wait for me when I'm finished. Do I look finished to you?"

Narcissa blushed and glanced at the Headmaster, as though awaiting permission to speak. He nodded kindly at her, and Bella realized the little twit really had been waiting for permission. Ugh. Sometimes Cissy was so unBlack-like it was embarrassing.

"Well? What do you want?" Bella snapped, deciding she definitely wasn't going to seek Dumbledore's permission to speak. If Cissy wanted to be obsequious, that was her business.

Narcissa shifted the weight of the satchel on her shoulder uncomfortably. "Um, well . .." She took a deep breath, and then, to Bella's shock, looked away from her sister and stared imploringly instead at the Headmaster. "I was fighting too," she said in a rush. "That day in the common room, with Bella. I was fighting too, and I _did _start it, and I don't think it's fair that Bella should be punished and not me, because it's mostly my fault and I should be punished too." She had turned a fierce pink, but to Bella's surprise, did not break eye contact. "So I want to do detention too," she finished. "With Bella."

Bellatrix glared at her, stunned into silence and unable to decide if she appreciated this ridiculous gesture or was incensed by it.

Dumbledore regarded Narcissa for a long moment, his blue-eyed gaze unusually sharp, and then he smiled.

"Take a seat, Miss Black."

Narcissa scuttled into the chair beside Bella at once, and shot her sister an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, as Dumbledore crossed the room and began to rifle through the contents of a nearby cabinet.

Bella narrowed her eyes at the Headmaster's suspicious behaviour, and then she turned back to Narcissa.

"I told you not to do this," she spat. "I specifically warned you against it. Why would you disobey me? And if you value your life, do _not _give me some Gryffindor spiel about how it was the _right thing to do." _

Narcissa twisted her fingers in her lap. "I just wanted things to go back to normal," she muttered. "Like they were before. I don't want you to hate me, Bella."

"I don't hate you, idiot."

Narcissa stared at her shoes. "You do," she murmered. "I'm ruining the rest of the year for you. You think I'm a freak. You were going to-" She shut up very suddenly.

"Going to what?" Bella probed.

"Nothing," Cissy muttered. "You wouldn't understand."

And that was all Bella could get out of her, during an entire hour of shifting through Dumbledore's collection of Daily Prophet articles from the rise of Grindelwald. Cissy even rose to Dumbledore's bait and came out with a few trite lines about the Dark Arts, when he attempted to begin a conversation about them. Bella - not fooled for a minute by these transparent attempts to get her own opinions on the current political climate - remained silent, ensuring these discussions ultimately fell flat, and covered her tracks by needling Cissy incessantly, in a futile attempt to find out what was going on in her sister's head.

It irritated her that she couldn't come up with an answer.

* * *

"I can't believe it."

Lucius sat down very suddenly and very stiffly. Bellatrix, struggling with an immensely tedious essay about plant propagation for Herbology, looked up. Lucius looked more irritated and certainly more bewildered than he had for days. He was staring sightlessly at the wall, frowning as though trying to figure out how exactly he had been duped. Bella put down her quill, intruiged. This looked as though it might be interesting.

"What?" she inquired. "What can't you believe?"

Lucius tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair, lost in thought. "Slughorn called me into his office," he muttered.

Bella raised an eyebrow. "And? What did he tell you? That you were Dumbledore's secret love child?" She laughed at her own joke.

Lucius became, if it were possible, even more tense. "No," he snapped. "Don't be ridiculous." He took a deep breath, as though steeling himself to admit something even more unpleasant. "He seems to believe," he continued at last, "that as Head Boy it is my _duty _to assist struggling younger students. He wants me to 'look after' your sister."

Bella sat up straight, paying attention now. "What? Cissy? What would he do that for?"

Lucius shrugged. "How should I know? He must believe her to be struggling. That is not what matters. What matters is what he expects me to do about it. I don't even know the girl."

"Cissy doesn't need anyone to look after her," Bella said venemously. "She's got me."

Lucius did not comment. Bella scowled and threw her heaviest textbook at him, satisfied when he groaned in pain.

"Well Slughorn appears to think you incapable of looking after her," he snapped. "Although I, apparently, have a much better chance of doing whatever it is he expects me to do, because _I am such a restraining influence on her sister."_

"Oh, I see. Oops." Bella laughed cruelly, momentarily forgetting her own offence as she realized that she had in fact already got one over on Lucius – after all, baby sitting Cissy was no-one's idea of fun. Certainly not hers. "Well, have fun," she said blithely. "You must be thrilled to have the, er, additional responsibility." She gave a contemptuous snort. "Being Cissy's minder. You're going to _hate _it," she added with relish.

Lucius groaned. "I don't doubt it." He frowned. "I can't do this. I don't know how to deal with your sister. Look," he said desperately, staring at something just out of Bella's range of vision. "She's crying again! What in the name of Merlin am I supposed to do about that?"

Bella shrugged. "Cissy cries all the time," she yawned. "Do nothing. She'll stop eventually. Well, she usually does."

"That sounds a little cruel," Lucius observed.

Bella scowled. "It'll toughen her up."

"I see." Lucius opened a book and stuck his nose in it, effectively ending the conversation. Bella rolled her eyes. Lucius' main method of dealing with things he didn't understand seemed to be to stick his head in the sand.

"You're going to lose your mind dealing with Cissy," she said delightedly.

"I don't doubt it," Lucius repeated tightly. He sighed heavily. "I really don't."

* * *

Bella was practicing her Transfiguration skills on a parakeet and mentally listing her favourite curses, when someone touched her shoulder.

"Ow." Lucius straightened up, looking mildly annoyed, and examined the scorch mark on the wall behind him. "Was that really necessary?" he inquired.

Bellatrix shrugged. "Was it really necessary for you to touch me?"

Lucius scowled. "You are quite possibly the most obnoxious girl of my acquaintence, and certainly the most violent."

Bella rolled her eyes. "If I'm obnoxious, what are you?"

"I am not obnoxious."

"Of course you are. Cissy, tell him he's obnoxious," Bella ordered, her gaze falling upon her sister, who had been sitting opposite her doing her homework.

Narcissa looked up, startled. "But – but he's not," she stammered.

Lucius blinked. "Thank you," he said, surprised. He turned back to Bella. "You see?"

Bellatrix glared at her sister, pleased when Narcissa turned scarlet and stared at the floor. "Cissy's opinion doesn't count," she said tartly. "Cissy is a twit who thinks a halfblood's company is worth keeping." She turned to Lucius. "What did you want anyway?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "I have something for you," he said slowly, pulling a piece of parchment out of his pocket. "But perhaps now isn't the best time. You seem to be in a bad mood. I'll give it to you later."

Bella kicked him, annoyed when he merely clicked his tongue and stood up. "Manners, Bellatrix," he chided her, tucking the letter carefully back into his shirt pocket. "Later," he decided, smirking at her horrified expression.

"Lucius, you foppish albino idiot, _give it to me!"_

The bell interrupted her, drowning out the rest of Bella's stream of insults. She scowled, swallowing her scream of frustration, and stood up.

"Come on," she snapped at Cissy. "Supper. And you'd better eat it quickly if you know what's good for you."

She was halfway to the door before she realized that Narcissa had not followed her. Her little sister was still sitting frozen in her seat by the fireplace, and her face had turned a shade of white abnormal even for Cissy. Bella frowned, walking backwards as the rest of the common room surged past her on their way to supper.

"What's wrong with you?" she said harshly.

Cissy swallowed, shaking her head. "I can't do it Bella," she murmered. "Please .. . . please don't make me. I can't do it anymore."

"What?"

Cissy began to shiver. "I can't do it," she repeated. "Please don't make me, Bella. I can't. I really can't. I thought I could but . . . I can't do it." She was really shaking now.

"Are you sick?" Bella asked apprehensively. If Cissy was coming down with something contagious, she wanted to step well back.

Cissy shook her head. Bella narrowed her eyes.

"I don't believe it," she said, outraged. "Well I have to hand it to you Cissy, you're getting craftier. But it's not going to work. I meant what I said. I don't care if I have to force it down your throat – you are going to eat."

She seized her sister by the arm and tried to pull her out of her chair. But Cissy struggled against her.

"I can't," she gasped. "Bella . . . I can't . . I can't . . .I . . ."

Her eyes widened and her chest began to rise and fall rapidly. It didn't look as if she could breathe. Bella gaped at her, horrorstruck.

"Cissy, snap out of it!" she commanded.

"C – can't-" Cissy stuttered. She made a fist of one hand and used the other to press it to her chest, dead in the centre just under her ribs, as though trying to stop her heart bursting out of her ribs. It didn't seem to help. If anything, the problem seemed to be getting worse, and Bella realized that if this didn't stop soon, Cissy was going to turn blue. It had been almost five minutes since the bell had sounded, and the common room was now empty save for Malfoy and Snape.

"Lucius!" she screamed. "Help me! Now!"

Cissy clutched at her arm.

"I don't like it either," Bella hissed, "but I. . ugh, I can't believe I'm saying this – I need help."

"What on earth-"

"Shut up, Lucius!" Bella interrupted. "You can help without talking."

"Not if I don't know what's wrong," Lucius snapped.

"It's obvious what's wrong," Bella retorted. "She can't breathe."

To Lucius' credit, he did not waste any more time inquiring as to why. He simply raised his wand and pointed it at Cissy.

"_Anapneo!"_

"It won't work."

The unexpected additional voice belonged to Snape. "It won't work," he repeated, ignoring Bella's furious expression. "There's nothing blocking her airway."

Lucius frowned, indicating surprise that Snape even knew the meaning of the incantation. "Then what is wrong with her?" he demanded.

Snape swallowed nervously. "It's a panic attack," he said urgently. "My mother gets them, I know what they look like. You need to make her breathe into a paper bag or something."

Bella laughed. "A paper bag?" she said derisively. "What do you take me for?"

Snape scowled. "Can't you ever think about anyone except yourself? She can't _breathe!" _

"You little-"

Bella fell silent a moment later, however, as Lucius interrupted her with the last word she ever would have expected.

"_Imperio!" _he cried.

Bella and Snape stared at him in open-mouthed silence. Bella didn't know which was more shocking, the fact that Lucius had just cast an Unforgivable Curse upon her sister . . . or the fact that it had worked.

Cissy's eyes glazed over in an instant, and her breathing calmed. They all stared at her in silence, watching her breathe.

"That's – that's illegal," Snape said unsteadily, breaking the silence.

Lucius shot him a sharp glance. "Are you going to report me?" he asked icily.

Snape shook his head so quickly Bella could have sworn she heard a crack.

"Good."

"Wow," Bella murmered, waving a hand in front of her sister's face. "That's . . . amazing." Cissy gave no indication she could hear them. "Does she have any idea what's happening?" Bella asked curiously.

Lucius shook his head. "No," he said tautly. "She pays us no attention because I have not ordered her to notice us. I only gave her one order. To forget everything and simply breathe." He was silent, his gaze fixed upon Narcissa's still, corpse-calm features. "She doesn't even know who she is," he said softly.

Bella frowned. "Why the forgetting?" she inquired.

Lucius shrugged.

"So technically we could order her to do anything," Bella said slowly, "and she couldn't disobey." She laughed. "We could make her jump off the Astronomy Tower and there would be absolutely nothing she could do to prevent it . . . ."

"Stop it," Snape snapped. "She's your sister. You shouldn't be trying that out on her, it's creepy."

Bella felt the laugh die in her throat, her momentary good humour evaporating faster than summer rain. She reached out, enraged, and grabbed Snape by the collar, lifting the boy half off his feet. (It wasn't hard to do, given how scrawny he was.)

"I thought we had this conversation. Cissy is _my_ sister," she hissed. "I'll do what I like with her. Do you understand?"

There was a moment of tense silence, during which Snape glared at her but stubbornly refused to answer. Bella shook him, annoyed, and opened her mouth again, reaching for her wand.

"Bellatrix," Lucius warned, "I'm lifting the curse now."

Another awkward silence, and then Bella dropped the boy, laughing as he hit the floor. "Scram!" she ordered, her eyes sparkling with delight as he glared mutinously at her. He glanced once, briefly, at Cissy, and then he fled.

Cissy awoke with a gasp.

She blinked, swaying on the spot. "I . . . what . . what happened?" she said blearily.

Bella stayed silent, so Lucius answered for her. "You couldn't breathe."

"I know .. . I remember . .. I think." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I thought I was going to die," she whispered. She shivered, and failed to notice Lucius' expression flicker. "I don't understand . . what did you do?" she murmered.

"I made you breathe," Lucius said shortly.

"How?"

"Does it matter?"

Narcissa shook her head slowly. "No . . . I suppose it doesn't." She didn't look as if she had quite come back to earth yet – she was staring at Lucius with a wide-eyed, distant expression, as though she were still floating somewhere out of reach. "I'm cold," she whispered. And then she fainted, with scarcely a second's warning. Lucius caught her just before she hit the floor.

"Here," he muttered, reaching into his pocket and pushing the letter into Bella's hand. "Take it." He picked Narcissa up, frowning at how light she was, and put her down in Bellatrix's empty armchair. Bella watched him push her hair gently out of her eyes and point his wand at her, muttering under his breath.

Satisfied Cissy was not about to die, Bellatrix turned her back on them and opened the letter, bursting with curiosity.

There was one sentence scrawled upon the parchment, in handwriting she recognized as Rosier's, and Bella smiled when she saw it.

_He says he'll see her. _


	11. Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking

**A / N : It's been a long time since I updated this, I know. I'm sorry about that. For anyone I haven't already explained this to – my computer crashed, I lost all my notes (for 3 fics . . . I _really _should have been backing up) and had to save up for a new laptop, rewrite 6 months worth of notes, and catch up on all the reviewing and writing I missed when I lost my computer. On top of the rest of my life. LRTR has been the worst to sort out because there was simply so much already written in my notes and I'm terrified of forgetting something important. If anything does seem to contradict something else here, or if you spot any typos, please tell me . . .. I do my best but a lot of the time I edit (and write) when I should be sleeping, and as a result I miss things. **

**This chapter and the next were originally intended as one, but my chapters seem to be getting longer and longer these days . . . . so I'll have to split it. I'll try and write the next one soon. **

**Oh – thank you to heliumxballoons and "Then Use Me, Tom" for their anon reviews, before I forget. XD**

**Chapter title is from the song by Snow Patrol. Enjoy! **

* * *

**Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking**

It was half-past four, and Bellatrix couldn't sleep. Her heart was conspiring against her, beating just a little too quickly. It made her legs twitch and her fingers tap impatiently, and somehow she just couldn't get comfortable.

So she sat in the abandoned common room, staring into space. Staring at her shoes, staring at the dying embers of the fire . . .. staring at the words of Rosier's letter, until the ink began to blur.

_He says he'll see her. He says he'll see her. He says he'll see her. _

Any sensible person would have realized hours ago that there was nothing of great importance hidden in the letter. Any sensible person would have gone to bed, to avoid looking like the undead the following morning, when appearances mattered. But it was Bella's personal belief that a person would only describe her as "sensible" under the influence of the Imperius Curse. She scowled, annoyed at herself. Sitting here, doing nothing, wasn't going to accelerate the dawn, and staring at a veiled reference to her master wasn't going to transport her into his presence. The only thing she could possibly do to hasten the passage of time was to become oblivious to it – to _sleep. _But she couldn't, not when her every nerve edge was humming and her eyes refused to close.

"Sleep," she growled, curling into a ball and flinging her cloak over her head, to block out what little light there was at this hour. A moment later she threw it to the floor, frustrated again. Sleep, it seemed, took offence at being summoned.

So Bella sat up, yawning, and pushed her feet back into her shoes, so that she could creep upstairs without getting frostbite. (Slytherin sleeping quarters were never truly warm, even in summer. Bellatrix could only suppose that was the intention of whoever had originally chosen to consign her entire House to the dungeons.)

She had rifled through three of the boy's bedside drawers before she found what she was looking for – oddly enough, by Lucius' bed.

"Thank you, Lucius!" Bella whispered gleefully, tucking the flask safely under her arm and wondering, briefly, what Malfoy of all people was doing with Firewhiskey. It wasn't as if he ever really drank. She could only assume it was some strange experiment in self-control - an exercise in denial, maybe.

She gave a contemptuous snort, coughing as the alcohol burned the back of her throat. Self-control for its own sake. Well, that certainly _sounded _like Malfoy.

Lucius' forehead creased in his sleep, as though he could hear her, and someone in a bed to the left – either Goyle or his identikit cronie – coughed. Taking the hint, Bella backed swiftly out of the room, retreating to the common room to drink in peace. The last thing she needed was for Lucius to wake up and start lecturing her, especially if she didn't have the option of falling asleep halfway through.

Twenty minutes later, Bella was forced to conclude that even this last brilliant plan had failed. She had consumed most of the alcohol in the flask, and she wasn't even drowsy.

Reluctantly abandoning the idea of assisted sleep, she resorted to new tactic, finishing two overdue Transfiguration essays and reorganizing her entire Potions kit, in the hope these monumentally boring tasks would lull her into unconsciousness. Eventually, her Potions ingredients lay before her in alphabetical order and her essays had been completed, measured, and put away. It was when she seriously considered memorizing them that Bella realized this was no longer remotely amusing – the situation had become dire.

"I'm going for a walk," she muttered.

Unsurprisingly, no-one answered.

* * *

Bella turned on every tap she could reach, drained the last of the Firewhiskey, and then took a deep breath, sinking slowly into the bathtub. The water closed over her head and her heartrate acclerated painfully. She closed her eyes - urging herself to relax - and leant back, so that the jet from the taps broke upon her wrists and forehead, drumming a new pattern into her pulse.

_Relax, _she commanded herself. _Relax._

The alcohol was burning in her stomach and the lack of oxygen was a mirror ache, burning in her lungs. And still the water fell, swift against her skull, surging against her skin, both pushing her down and keeping her afloat.

Hands, cold against her throat, pulling her tie free with almost clinical precision. (A hangman's noose, removed at the whim of a monarch.)

Her hair, wound around one cold finger, cold words whispered in her ear. (A toy, a _test_.)

Her heart, skittish and straying, for the first time, into truly dangerous terrain.

Lucius' white face.

Rosier's agonized scream.

Dolohov's wry smile.

The images were coming thick and fast now, as her air supply began to expire and the hazy impatience of the past few hours, the creeping confusion of recent weeks, started to coalesce into something solid.

Scales, cool against her collarbone. Silver, warm in her palm as she sat waiting. An answer she couldn't bring herself to provide, trapped in her throat.

A smirk, a shiver, an unformed, fearful urgency, and a dread of disappointment.

Bella broke the surface with a gasp.

* * *

It was as the clock struck six, as dawn broke, that Bellatrix finally abandoned her attempts to sleep. The school corridors were empty this early in the morning, so she could walk the path back to the dungeons in peace, footsteps echoing on flagstones tinted gold by the rising sun.

Dawn.

She paused, raising her hand so the light could fall upon it.

Had she always been so pale? Bella frowned. It was only when she positioned her hand at a direct angle to the rising sun that it took on a healthy pink glow – when she lowered it into shadow again, it looked almost ghostly white. Disturbed, she stepped into the nearest room, which seemed to be an empty, general-purpose sort of classroom. Ignoring for the moment the obvious distraction the room had just presented, she reached instead for the grimy mirror hanging on the back of the door.

It wasn't just a trick of the light, she realized, tilting the mirror this way and that as she studied her reflection. She had become abnormally pale. She looked, in fact, like Cissy – white and distracted and somehow far, far away. Bella scowled at her own image, gently prodding the dark circles under her eyes. How had she come to look like this?

Setting the mirror down, she considered the situation. When was the last time she had been outside? A week? Two weeks? She honestly couldn't remember. She seemed to spend every waking hour in the castle, doing detention or dragging Cissy to meals or cobbling essays together in the dungeons . . . or dwelling on the many ways she could prove herself to her master, and win his respect. Bella knew many things about herself, but the thing she was most certain of was that she was not a fool. Her master _would _look at her differently, she'd make sure of it, because more than anything now Bella wanted to feel . . .

"Worthy," she whispered, searching her own eyes for confirmation of the word which had fallen so readily from her lips.

"Worthy?" she repeated, suddenly uncertain. She shivered a little.

"_Worthy,"_ she said firmly, fiercely, unable to decide if she was trying the word out or hammering it home. She wished her eyes could carry the same conviction as her voice. But they didn't appear convinced of anything – they made her look lonely, and longing, and _lost. _Bella scowled at herself, disgusted. She was Bellatrix Black. She was beautiful, and dangerous, and ambitious and cruel . . . or so she hoped. She wasn't supposed to look like _that, _not for anyone.

_But he isn't anyone, is he? _A soft, mocking voice whispered. _You mean nothing to him, and doesn't it just __**burn? **__Silly, boring, disappointing little girl . . . ._

"Stop it," she hissed. "Stop it!"

She felt her fists clench instincively, a lump swelling in her throat, and then her hands were trembling, weak but beyond her control, and before she could catch it the mirror had fallen - and then it was broken, shattered like the spell it had cast upon her.

There was wicked laughter bubbling up in her throat, but she couldn't help it. It felt so good to break something. Crash, _bang!_ So _decisive. _It was almost worth having to put up with -

"What the . . . ?!"

Lucius.

Bella sighed, and then she tossed her hair over her shoulder and smirked. The shards of glass on the floor sent her reflection back at her in pieces, distorted. A flash of sharp white tooth, a soft, coal-black curl, an eyelash settling feather-light upon her cheek . . . and a last, fading bruise, hidden from her until now, colouring the pale hollow of her throat. It was strange, the details thrown up when she looked at herself from this angle.

"Consider it . . . an exercise in defiance, Lucius," she declared with a twisted smile. She turned around. "Hello."

Lucius groaned. "What are you talking about?" he said blearily, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

There was broken glass confettied across her shoes. Bella shook it off, smiling, and stepped out of the mess.

"Nothing. What are you doing in here?" she demanded. It was a valid question, given that Lucius was currently sitting propped against a desk, wearing his pyjamas and using a scroll of parchment for a pillow. At her words he groaned again, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"I _was _trying to sleep," he said pointedly, smothering a yawn.

Bella grinned. "Please don't tell me you sleepwalk. I might die laughing."

Lucius grimaced. "Of course not," he said impatiently. "That would be ludicrous." He frowned. "I'm here because Goyle has become convinced I sleep_talk."_

Bella laughed. "What?"

Another grimace. "Goyle woke me," Lucius said carefully, "to inform me that I was giving orders in my sleep. I, of course, told him I'd never heard anything so preposterous in my life, but he was annoyingly persistant." He yawned. "I left before he could call Crabbe as a character witness."

Bella settled herself on top of the nearest desk, still smirking. "You look revolting," she said companionably.

Lucius blinked. "What are you talking about?" His gaze flickered towards the ruins of the mirror, and he raised a hand self-consciously to his hair. Bella rolled her eyes.

"Not _that," _she said impatiently. "Though I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear your resemblence to my thirteen year old sister grows with every day you refuse to cut your hair." She wound a portion of it around her finger and tugged sharply, pleased when Lucius groaned. (He was so unbearably wooden that she had come to consider any response at all from Malfoy a victory.) "I was actually referring to this." She curled her fingers around the lapel of Lucius' dressing gown and gave that a corresponding yank, pleased when he gave a strangled sort of yelp.

Lucius prised her hand away with a scowl. He had turned a mildly interesting shade of pink.

"I don't see what's so wrong with it," he retorted, trying to regain his composure. (Bella made a mental note to prod him in the chest more often.) He settled back in his seat, examining the fabric with interest. "What is wrong with it?" he asked cautiously.

Bella stared. "Lucius, it's silk."

"Your point?"

"Quilted silk."

"Mmm. I know."

"Er . . . _purple _quilted silk."

Lucius smoothed the crease in his lapel, indifferent again. "I had noticed. I still don't see your point."

Bella gaped at him. "It's foul," she managed at last. "It – it makes my eyes want to vomit. It's . . . .visual vomit!" She laughed.

Lucius frowned. "You're drunk," he said disgustedly.

"I'm hardly even tipsy," Bella objected. "But you're right. If I was completely sober, I would have realized -" - she paused, considering - "that that's actually lilac. Ugh." She giggled, though it wasn't really funny. "You've outdone yourself."

Lucius' scowl became more pronounced than ever. "As have you," he said coldly. "It's not even nine a.m and already you're drunk."

Bella turned the flask over in her hand, offended. "Don't be so dramatic," she snapped. "I'll buy you more Firewhiskey, if it matters so much. Not that you'll actually drink it. And I'm not _drunk." _That much was true. Dragged into the light and forced to make conversation, the alcohol had briefly warmed her and begun to loosen her tongue. But the effect had already worn off. She was starting to feel cold and nervous again, apprehension gnawing at her stomach. "I was just – I was -"

_Shut up, _she ordered herself.

Lucius watched her for a long, silent minute. "Just what?" When Bella did not reply, he sighed heavily, as though steeling himself for something unpleasant. "Are we going to discuss this?" he muttered, avoiding her eye.

Bella swallowed. Was she that transparent? If even Malfoy could pick up on what she was feeling, she didn't have a hope her master wouldn't notice. Then again, maybe he _wanted _her to feel like this. Hadn't he been trying to confuse her? Didn't he want . . . ? No. That was . . . . that was . . . . surely . . . _she was_ _doing it again._

_Like me. Want me. Need me. _What was wrong with her?

She inhaled deeply, struggling to smooth her expression and play dumb. "I don't know what you mean," she lied.

Lucius raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Your sister," he said flatly, and Bella jumped.

"What? _Cissy?_"

If Lucius' sudden silence was anything to go by, that hadn't been the right response. But . . . of course. He was talking about _Cissy. _For a brief, inexplicable instant, Bella wanted to laugh. He couldn't see it. She was safe.

Lucius was staring at her now, apparently highly uncomfortable. "Yes," he said slowly. "Your sister . What else is there to discuss?"

Bella shrugged. "Nothing," she said quickly, hoping Lucius would take her standoffishness as a desire to protect Narcissa, and not pry any further into her strange response. "There's nothing to discuss. Cissy is fine. Well, she will be. And it's none of your business even if she _isn't." _

Lucius scowled. When tired, he seemed more irritable than usual, and much less inclined to blindly obey orders. "You're making it my business," he snapped.

Bella ground her teeth. "Well," she growled, trying to sound sweet and failing miserably, "I won't tell anyone what you did if you don't." Checking the bile in her voice with immense effort, she spun round to face him and smiled. "It'll be our secret," she teased, putting out a hand to smooth his hair. (She might not want Lucius, but Bella still found the idea that he didn't want _her _nothing short of unnatural.)

Lucius, however, was apparently in no mood to indulge her vanity. He knocked her hand away, unusually roughly, and simply stared at her for a long moment.

The silence spiralled uncomfortably. Bella picked up an inkpot and held it to the light, watching the liquid swirl back and forth before she put it down again. She cleared her throat, and then straightened up, deciding to ignore Lucius.

"I'm going back to the common room," she informed him. "I'll meet you later, in the Entrance Hall. Hopefully you'll have cheered up by then . . ."

She was halfway to the door when Lucius stopped her in her tracks. "I'm not going."

Bella froze. "What?"

Lucius leant back in his chair and tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the table. "I'm not going to Hogsmeade," he repeated calmly.

It was Bella's turn to stare now. "W – what are you talking about?" she spluttered, trying to compose herself. "Lucius . .. . you can't _not go! _I have my Trace, remember? I can't apparate!"

Lucius shrugged. "I have more important things to do than hold your hand, Bellatrix."

"Don't be an idiot. There's nothing more important than -" Bella cut herself off abruptly, sucking in her breath. "For our master?" she demanded. She couldn't help it, the idea made her jealous.

Lucius' expression flickered again. "No," he said slowly. "Here. At school."

Bella dismissed this instantly. "Oh, who cares about school? Lucius, in a month's time we leave _school _for good. And you're Head Boy, they can't touch you without looking like idiots themselves. The worst they can possibly do is take that badge off you, and that's probably a blessing in disguise, let's face it. You polish it so often I think the fumes have started to affect your brain . . . ."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "If this is your attempt to sweet talk me," he said coldly, "I might suggest you try a little harder."

Bellatrix scowled. "Oh, come _on," _she protested. "You don't have anything better to do and we both know it!" When this failed to melt Malfoy's frosty exterior, she sighed. "It'll be fun," she suggested.

This rousing statement received only stony silence as a response. Bella sighed again, walking her fingers along the desk as she considered her next move. Lucius was staring at the same stretch of table top, but he didn't seem to notice her approach – he jumped as she walked her fingers into the palm of his left hand. His fingers twitched, and he made to pull away, but Bella had expected that – she gripped his hand tightly, sure to dig her nails in.

"I need your help," she threatened.

She took a deep breath, smoothing the crease in his lapel and smirking at his obvious discomfort. "You will help me, won't you?" she purred. "It's what friends do, isn't it?" Lucius opened his mouth, about to disagree, but Bella pressed a finger carefully to his lips, rendering him instantly mute. "We are . . . friends . . . aren't we?" she asked innocently.

There was a tense silence, and then, to Bella's horror, Lucius prised her hand away. "I suggest you write back to Rosier," he said blandly. "If you need someone to meet you in Hogsmeade, I'm sure he'll be only too happy to oblige."

Bella gaped at him. "Why the hell would I do that?" she snapped, her saccharine stance evaporating in an instant. "You're here, you have nothing better to do, and you as good as organized this whole thing! You can't just decide to step back all of a sudden without warning – what's wrong with you?" Panic flooded the pit of her stomach as she was struck by a sudden, nauseating realization. "Lucius, if – if I arrange a meeting with . . . _him . . . . _and don't show up, he'll – he'll _punish me."_

Lucius said nothing. He seemed unable even to look at her. Bella froze, sickened.

"You're angry with me." Her voice was shaking.

"No."

"Liar. You _are, _I can see it!" She gave a contemptuous snort. "Don't tell me, it's the Firewhiskey you want to punish me for."

Lucius' blank facade slipped, unexpectedly, and just for an instant he looked truly angry. _"No,"_ he said emphatically, colour creeping into his pale cheeks once more.

Bella blinked. "It's not Cissy is it?" she asked bemusedly. This was the most recent offence she could think of, though as an explanation for Lucius' odd behaviour, '_Cissy' _made hardly any sense.

"I don't know what you mean," Lucius snapped.

Her own words, thrown back at her so snidely, were the final straw.

Her hands had begun to shake and the blood was rushing loudly in her ears again, giving her the unpleasant but not entirely unfamiliar sensation of being plunged underwater. _"_You lying little _bastard_!" she shrieked.

Bella wasn't quite sure how it happened, or even how she managed it, given that Lucius was taller, and (as his previous attempts to restrain her had long since proved) stronger than her. But she lashed out, jarring her wrist as her hand impacted against his chest . . . . and Lucius hit the flagstones with a crash that even _sounded _painful.

There was a long pause, as she stood above him breathing hard, and then, slowly, he raised his head.

There was a thin stream of blood trickling from his nose, and Bella was a long way from sorry.

For a minute or more, Malfoy didn't move. He simply lay, frozen, in the position in which he had fallen.

Bella swallowed hard. "Don't lie to me," she murmured.

She was halfway to the door when it slammed shut in front of her. "Let me out," she snarled, wheeling round to face Lucius.

He was on his feet, wand pointed at the door, and there was an odd, cold glint in his grey eyes - an emptiness she had never really seen before.

Bella shivered. She put her hands in the pocket of her cloak, but found only the empty flask. Undeterred, she flung this at Malfoy's feet. Where was her wand?

"Let me out," she said, more forcefully. Lucius watched the flask bounce against the flagstones, his face impassive, and then he brushed the dust from his dressing-gown, quite calmly, and stepped forwards. He seized her arm so suddenly Bella almost screamed.

"You're going to fail," he said savagely.

Bella struggled against him, dismayed when he merely tightened his grip on her. Tighter and tighter . . . . it was starting to hurt. "I don't know what you mean," she taunted.

Lucius' cheek twitched at the phrase, and then, unexpectedly, he smiled - and Bella suddenly understood why he rarely did so. "Then allow me to elaborate," he said softly. _"You – will – fail." _

It was the last thing she wanted to hear.

"Let me go. _Now!" _Bella screamed. She tried to kick him, but Lucius neatly sidestepped her best attempt. His fingers tightened and Bella screamed again. This time, she wasn't sure if it was anger or pain that provoked it.

But even if she couldn't find her wand, she still had a free hand. Lucius seemed as immune as ever to being slapped, but she had always had more imagination that that . . . Bella took a deep breath, set her jaw, and then reached up blindly and dragged her fingers across his cheek. It wasn't a bad effort either, she reflected, as Lucius inhaled sharply, the air hissing through his teeth. She had managed both to poke him the eye and to leave four deep scratches across his cheek. They were bleeding profusely. His smile curdled.

"You're going to fail," he spat. "And _this_," - he shook her, hard - "is why. You have no self-control. If you want to keep secrets, you need it. But you won't ever learn."

As suddenly as he had seized her, he let go. He stared at his hands for a moment, flexing his fingers as if they had somehow disobeyed him.

And then, before Bella could even try and take aim at him, he had disappeared.


	12. Darkshines

**A / N : Hello everyone . . . .**

**A few notes about this chapter. First of all, if anyone has recently visited my profile, you probably saw this coming. For those who haven't - I was thinking about cutting the chapter into two again, as it was getting too long. Lately I seem to be suffering from what I can only call "Harry Potter syndrome", where the more I write . . . well . . . . the _more I write. _That, or I have completely and utterly lost my ability to gauge how long a chapter will be from the points in my notes. It's probably a combination of both, now I think about it. I've tried writing 100 word drabbles, and being ruthless with myself, but nothing seems to work – and if I'm not happy with something, I won't post it. So for the moment we're stuck with the long chapters, which leaves me with two options - posting one giant chapter (which would probably be about sixteen pages long and give my readers a heart attack) or splitting it up into shorter chapters. I think Plan B works best, because you get _something _to read a lot faster. But if you feel like the chapters lose something, then please let me know. **

**This chapter has also given me hell. And thanks to my preposterous chapter lengths, the hell will continue on for _another_ chapter after this. Um, I should clarify that. I don't hate these chapters. The opposite, actually. I used to love them. I loved them so much, in fact, that once upon a time I did something I never do, and wrote a whole chapter months before I needed it, storing it neatly in my notes to be pulled out at a later date. Unfortunately, me being a technophobic idiot, I never thought to back up these lovely notes - so when my last computer crashed, I lost them all and had to start again from scratch. And my brain, somehow, absolutely loathes the idea of rewriting something it considered completely done. My muse tends to sulk / scream / go on hunger strike. Anyway. This is only about half the chapter in my head, and I have completely deleted it and started all over again six times. Which should give you some idea of how bad the problem was. The good news is, it's getting better. Unless I've just jinxed myself, the next chapter update I post should be for this fic. I don't like to drag things out, believe it or not. ^^**

**Other notes . . . Chapter title is from the song by Muse. Please review if you have any thoughts, because I have not mastered long-distance Legilimency, and feedback helps. The Molly / Arthur mention here . . . if anyone needs a quick recap without rereading – Dumbledore is recruiting for the Order. Bella sold the Prewett brothers' names to Voldemort during her last encounter with him, as potential blood traitors. Lucius and Rodolphus then tortured them as a warning, on his orders. Molly is understandably rattled, and Bella is (perhaps less understandably) smug, and annoyed that she can't claim much credit for it. That's about it. Oh, and writing summer scenes in dire weather is harder than I expected, so, er . . . I hope they convince, and the head-cold I was struggling with at the time is not glaringly obvious.**

**Okay, I'm done rambling. (At last, you think . . . ) Enjoy! xD**

* * *

**Darkshines**

It was turning into the first truly hot day of summer.

Bella scowled and quickened her pace, throwing her hair over her shoulder. She had always hated the heat. Hot weather was for people like Cissy – dainty little girls with wardrobes full of prim pastel sundresses and flimsy, pointless parasols. Her own wardrobe was full of velvet and silk, blood red and deepest black. She didn't see the point in wearing a colour that looked as if it belonged on the walls, intended to bring out just a hint of pink in her cheeks, and keep male pulses plodding placidly along - rather like the sickly smiles and empty platitudes her parents demanded as proof of her wifely appeal.

Bellatrix gave a contemptuous snort.

Madam Puddifoot, (the plump proprietor of what had to be the most nauseating establishment in all of Hogsmeade) cast her a disapproving look, and swiftly returned to straightening her doilies, which were beginning to curl in the sun.

Bella rolled her eyes. Madam Puddifoot was quite possibly the most pastel person she had ever encountered, and was probably personally offended by her attire. Not that Bella cared. Clothes were supposed to stand out, to make an _impact_ – they were supposed to be striking. The closest Bella had ever come to wearing pastel was an impromptu hug she had once received from Cissy at a garden party, and she was more than happy to keep it that way.

The problem with wearing striking clothes, however, was that even Bella couldn't deny they were sometimes impractical. All that silk and corsetry raised her own blood pressure almost as much as her intended victim's, and in the heat it was nothing short of annoying. She rolled back her sleeves, scowling. She felt hot and sticky, and was starting to regret spending so long in the bath. The scent of bubbles still clung to her skin, lily and rose rising sickly sweet from every pulse point. She didn't want to appear before her master like this - it was humiliating. Bella would rather have been sweaty and purposeful – bloody or slime-covered, even – but instead she was going to present herself as a vapid little twit, someone silly and girlish enough to put on perfume for her master's sake.

_He doesn't even like perfume, _she thought sourly.

Bellatrix wasn't sure how she knew this, but somehow she was certain of it – her master was not a man who liked perfume. He liked . . . honest things. Purposeful things. She swallowed, pressing her lips together in a tight scowl. It was going to be hard enough to rise above Rosier's bleating about Black women – if she appeared before her master reeking of roses, it was bound to dent her argument ever so slightly. It was as good as advertizing her sex.

Bella inhaled deeply, struggling to soothe the voice in her head baying for Lucius' blood, and more than happy to settle for Rosier's, should he cross her in a fit of cousinly concern. She had lost control, at a time when she needed it most - at a time when she felt almost panicked without it.

She was thinking about her master's taste in perfume.

He was bound to notice. He couldn't _not. _

Suddenly, Occlumency seemed more urgent than it ever had in Dumbledore's office.

Bella felt her scowl deepen. Other recruits didn't think about these things. But as far as she knew, most other recruits were male, and unlikely to be overwhelmed by alien feelings of . . .. . longing and . . . . _hopelessness . . . _at their master's touch. They seemed to think about torture when close to the Dark Lord, and apparently longed to back away from his presence - as nonsensical as it seemed. Bella didn't understand it. They, after all, had nothing to hide. They probably didn't feel wrong-footed at every turn, acutely aware of how childish and puppyishly devoted they seemed, how cringingly eager to please. They almost certainly didn't struggle with a mortifying physical attraction to him which their master found coldly amusing, and which coloured their every meeting a delicate shade of . . . . humiliation.

No, Bella thought bitterly. Most other recruits probably _didn't _think about these things.

Hogsmeade itself was hardly helping to clear her head. The town seemed determined to distract or annoy her as much as possible. It was tiresome enough, walking through the town in a hurry and trying not to look as if she cared too much for her eventual destination, or intended to pass the village parameter at any point. But really . . . Bella scowled. Somehow, the occupants seemed more odious than before. It was possible she had simply never noticed it, when she was on time and distracted by nothing more troubling than whatever hideous outfit Lucius had brought out for the occasion. But today . . . her fingers twitched, and she tightened her grip on her wand.

The main street seemed to have been over-run with trysting couples and squealing brats. Little boys ran laughing up the road, tossing Zonko's joke products high into the air and cramming sweets into their mouths. Hogwarts students wandered aimlessly in and out of the shade, hand in hand and doe-eyed with mutual adoration. They cooed over the summer display in the window of Honeydukes (a dancing pineapple that would have granted Lucius ten minutes of spluttering, apoplectic annoyance, had he been here to see it), and congregated outside the Three Broomsticks, squeezed either side of cosy trestle tables and seemingly Spellotaped together at the lips.

Bella made sure to sneer as she passed Weasley and Prewett, wedged into the smallest table. Weasley turned purple at her attention, and a forkful of pumpkin pasty plopped into his Butterbeer. Prewett tugged sharply on his arm as Bella let out a ringing laugh.

She slowed down a little, painfully aware that she had drawn attention to herself now, and that their eyes would trail her all the way out of the village if she didn't get rid of them.

Prewett's eyes narrowed as Bella approached.

She looked a little different, somehow. The last time Bella had paid her any attention, she had been giggling and carefree, all soppy smiles and contented sighs, busy building the sort of future that made Bellatrix's skin crawl. But now . . . she looked a little more wary, a little less _dim_. She looked nervous and angry, in fact.

Bella grinned.

"Table manners, Weasley," she said idly, poking him in the back with the tip of her wand. He choked, spraying crumbs into his drink.

Prewett swallowed. "What do you want, Black?" she demanded, with what had to be forced disdain.

Bella shrugged. "It's a nice day," she said lightly, leaning across the trellised fence and prodding the nearest hanging basket. It lurched alarmingly, earth trickling into Prewett's flaming hair. Bella's smile widened. "I thought I'd do something . . . . _nice._"

"You're a Slytherin," Prewett said harshly. The implication - _"you wouldn't know nice if it hit you in the face" - _was hard to miss.

Weasley plucked a petal out of Molly's hair, his hand closing over her own. "Leave it, Moll," he murmured. "It's not worth it."

Bella winked. "He's right," she said soothingly. "These are difficult times, for all of us. That's what you're going to say, Weasley, isn't it? But Dumbledore's right. We shouldn't argue with each other. We should stick together." She paused. "Where we _belong_."

Prewett frowned. "I don't know what you-"

Bella kicked the fence, making her jump, and then tipped the contents of the hanging basket over her head. Weasley gave a shout as Bella flung a fistful of flowers in his girlfriend's face.

"Send them to your brothers!" she snarled. "I hope they're feeling better!"

Prewett gave a shocked, gulping sort of sob, and Weasley shouted something that sounded oddly like "When I get my hands on Malfoy . . . !"

The idea that Malfoy was responsible for any of her behaviour was downright insulting, but by then Bella had danced away across the street, laughing to herself as the pub's other patrons turned to stare at Prewett, who had begun to argue with Weasley. Rosmerta - the pretty young barmaid - offered the sobbing Prewett a napkin and flinched as she proceeded to beat Weasley over the head with it, shrieking something about her love interest "letting Slytherins walk all over him", which was rounded off with a vehement "My brothers wouldn't stand for it!" as he ducked beneath the table.

Bella slipped away from the scene unnoticed, and proceeded to run for the hill, cursing the heat. Faster, faster . . . . she was going to be late.

She let out a small scream of frustration. When she got back to school, she thought savagely, she was going to wrap Lucius' hair around his neck and hang him from the clock in the castle courtyard. That might teach him how it felt to have to fight against time.

Picturing his pale face flushed purple soothed her ire somewhat, but then the path evened out beneath her feet, the steep hillside fell away, and she found herself facing . . . nothing.

There was no-one there, no-one _waiting. _

After a moment Bella closed her mouth, fingers tightening upon her wand.

"Evan!"

No response.

She tried again. "Rosier?"

Nothing.

Bella swallowed, sweat prickling across her palms. "Rosier!" she spat. "Do you really think you can toy with _me? _Do you really think that I won't make you sorry you were _born _if you don't come out of whatever rat-hole you're sulking in in five minutes flat?"

Silence.

He was late.

He had to be late. _He had agreed to be here. _

Bella kicked the path, sending pebbles flying into the hedgrow.

"When I next see you," she snarled, "I'm going to cut off every appendage you've got! Understand? _Every single one, _you treacherous _bastard, _and then I'm going to pickle them in brine and send them to your mother, wrapped up in whatever's left of Malfoy's hair! _Do you hear me?" _

This threat - though colourful - gained no response, and she gave in at last.

He wasn't here. He couldn't be here.

Bella took a deep breath, shaking with anger and apprehension. _Calm down, _a voice in her head whispered fiercely. _He might still show up. There might be a reason. __**Calm down.**_

She sat down on the stile, shivering a little despite the warm summer's air. The wood groaned as she sank her fingernails into the weather-beaten surface - shifting her weight impatiently, half-rising only to fall back again, chewing her tongue to stop herself screaming out loud.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. _

Her heel twitched - beyond her control. It knocked impatiently against the fence, counting, taunting, threatening.

_Thump. Thump. THUMP._

Bella shut her eyes and turned her face to the sky, something hot seething in the pit of her stomach. It was part rage, part fear, part frustration . . . and part . . . . the way he looked at her, the cool of his fingers against her throat.

Her foot stilled.

It was so _hot. _A cool breeze crept across her cheeks, a mocking touch, and the heat pressed down upon her eyelids, a thin layer of perspiration rising at her wrists, forehead, collarbone . . . .

There was a buzzing sound at the edge of her hearing, a bee humming among the heather. And then she felt it – a sharp prickle at the back of her neck. The unmistakeable sensation of being watched.

Bella sat bolt upright, drawing her wand up to elbow height. She jumped onto the path, a flurry of dust swirling around her ankles, and looked around.

"Who's there?" she demanded. She swallowed, mouth as dry as parchment. "I know you're there," she said softly.

Oh, there was someone _there, _alright. The question was, where? She didn't have long, and there weren't many places to hide. She couldn't assume they were hiding in the obvious areas of cover anyway. With an Invisibility Cloak, or a carefully placed spell, the spy could be anywhere. He could be standing two feet away, his wand trained at her heart. She was unlikely to get more than one chance to stun him, and if she got it wrong . . . .

Bella suppressed a shudder, and then, as her eyes swept the hillside one last time, deciding . . . a flash of silver caught her eye, startling her. Bright, blinding . . .

It was a knife, half-buried in the weeds growing beside the stile. A short silver knife, with a tiny, intricate serpent carved into the handle – and as she watched, _the serpent moved. _

Bella made up her mind in an instant. It was his mark. Slytherin's mark.

Her _master's _mark.

She dropped to the ground, plunging her hand through the thistles, and several things happened in quick succession. She was never sure, later, which came first.

A curse streaked past her ear - a screech of blistering, white-hot air, like an unruly note ripped from a violin. And then her fingers brushed the smooth silver of the blade, and she felt a sharp magnetic pull, a jerk beneath her navel - pulling her out of a hot summer's day in Hogsmeade and into the unknown. She gasped as the ground spun away from her, sending her hurtling through the air with her eyes screwed tightly shut, something searing and ice-white curling into her palm.

Her knees buckled against a hardwood floor.

Bella sat up immediately, staring wildly around as her surroundings lurched dizzily into focus.

She was sprawled on the floor in a gloomy room, struggling to catch her breath. Her right hand was bleeding, and she realized that she had instinctively tightened her grip on the blade, reacting against the pull.

Her fingers unfolded, strange and stiff, and the knife clattered to the floor. It looked oddly dull in the gloom. The blood on her fingers had taken on a strange quality too – it looked more black than red in this half-light, a sticky spreading stain, like treacle trickling across her fingers.

_Funny, _she thought dimly, as the edges of the wound began to throb.

The shadows began to swirl as her breathing became more ragged, the room settling into solidity around her. She took a deep breath.

She could _feel_ it . . .

The wand stopped an inch from her lips.

"Bella . . . " a cold voice hissed. "At last. "


	13. Tranquilize

**A / N : I have written and rewritten and edited this one to absolute death, and having reached the point where my fingers jam and my eyes blur just looking at the thing, I'm giving up. So - for all the lovely people who know exactly who they are and prod me out of hopeless lazy despair when I need it . . . . here is chapter thirteen. **

**(Thirteen? Oh. Irony. How interesting.) **

**Points of note : This seems like a good point at which to remind my readers that I don't use the Black Family Tree. In Bella's first memory, she is eleven, Andromeda is fourteen, Narcissa is nine. (It seemed like a good idea to provide a reminder, in case anyone had forgotten and the dynamic between them seems a little strange.) In memory no.2, Bella is thirteen, and Rodolphus is sixteen. Memory no.2 is explained in greater detail later on, and in all honesty will probably be written in some other multi-chap in the future. (Probably the Andromeda fic which is on my to-do list.) But it should be easy enough to follow without detailed background information, it's pretty self-explanatory. And hopefully Rodolphus' opinion of Bella (given to Lucius in chapter seven) makes a _little_ more sense now. Also - I'm working under the hypothesis that the fathers of Crabbe and Goyle were about as imaginative as their offspring. So Bella is referring to Goyle Sr in that similie, not his son. We haven't slipped into sudden AU or anything. **

**Chapter title is from the song by Lou Reed and The Killers. Because I love it, and it seemed to fit. **

* * *

**Tranquilize**

"At last," a cold voice hissed, and Bella swallowed hard.

She looked up. She couldn't help it. Perhaps it would have been wiser to stay staring at the floor, to indicate . . . humility, or remorse. But her gaze was drawn upwards instead, fixed upon the man before her.

He was a man. A powerful man, certainly, but still. A man, not some sort of minor deity. There was no reason for her to be struck dumb in his presence.

_No,_ Bella thought dully. _No reason at all._

And yet here she was, lying crumpled on the floor, mouth agape and hands extended, proferring bloody palms towards him. An offering? A plea?

He was close to her now . . . so close to her . . . his wand hovering an inch from her lips. There was nothing Bella could think to say. She wanted to say something witty, arresting, impressive . . . but she seemed to have left her wits behind her in Hogsmeade.

_Say something, _she screamed at herself. _Say something! _

Her master withdrew his wand, very slowly - and then his lip curled, and Bella realized with a sudden surge of horror that her hands were still upturned, blood falling quietly to the floor. She dropped them immediately, cheeks blazing, and balled her fists in the fabric of her skirt.

"It was a Portkey," she said hoarsely, when she found her voice. "The knife. It was a Portkey."

Her master's expression remained inscrutable. "Yes," he hissed.

Bella swallowed and sat up a little straighter. She wasn't sure she dared to stand. Why couldn't she think of the right thing to say? She had waited for this moment, after all – waited weeks in impatient expectation.

Yet here she was, gormless as Gregory Goyle before the most powerful wizard she had ever met, a man whose approval mattered more to her than anything, for reasons she didn't fully understand. And she was reduced to pointing out the obvious.

_The knife was a Portkey. Well of course it was a Portkey. You wouldn't be here if it wasn't, would you? Idiot. _

She wanted to ask why, what her master had intended by it . . . . but she had a feeling that might be obvious too.

"Who – who attacked me?" she stammered instead, hoping this question might interest him a little more, might draw his attention to the fact that she was here, and had evaded her would-be assailant. "In the field? My lord," she added hastily.

Her master regarded her a moment, his head tilted to one side.

"Dolohov," he answered at last. His tone was indifferent.

Bella took a deep breath, pushing her hair out of her eyes. The floor was cold against her knees.

And then her master's gaze flickered briefly to her hands, to the crimson streak across her forehead. His lip curled again, and suddenly, she understood.

She shouldn't have picked up the knife. It was a suspicious object, and she had touched it, with her bare hands, without a second thought. It could have been a trick, or a trap. It could have been cursed. Touching it - _trusting _it - had been foolish. Weak. Of course he wasn't impressed - of course he wasn't about to pat her on the head and call her a clever girl.

But . . . Bella frowned. If she hadn't touched it . . . she would still be in the field. Wasting time, with a fifty-fifty chance of being incapacitated by Antonin Dolohov. Unable to Apparate to her master for fear of her Trace leading a half a dozen Ministry officials to his doorstep.

She bit back a groan. There was no right answer. She would have been guilty of negligence or recklessness, whichever option she chose, and he had intended it that way.

Her master gave a high, cold laugh.

"You are late," he said coldly. Bella cringed.

"My lord," she said quickly, "I didn't . . . intend . .. I . . . I've hardly even slept! I was prepared – I was - and then _Lucius_ . . ." - she scowled - "Lucius threw a tantrum and decided he didn't want to take me after all. Because he cares more about school . . . about licking the shoes of his teachers and polishing that stupid badge. He isn't . . . he doesn't . . . He isn't _grateful! _He doesn't care about what you've given him," she said fiercely. "He doesn't forget it all for you, for _this, _to_ fight. _He's happy to sit at school and pander to Professor Slughorn and spin his little web of platitudes. He doesn't want to fight, he doesn't _feel _it like I do, and then he has the _nerve _to tell me I don't belong and don't deserve and he won't – he won't -"

She fell silent, breathing hard, as her master raised a hand. His expression was blank, unreadable, and then his mouth curved in an icy, ironic smile.

"Ah yes," he murmured. "Lucius. The Malfoy boy - the boy who brought you to me."

Bella swallowed. "Only because I left him with no choice," she muttered.

Her master did not seem surprised by the statement, but his gaze flickered towards her as though she had spoken out of turn.

"Yes," he said sharply.

There was another uncomfortable pause, as he studied her in silence, and then, as Bella teetered on the brink of an apology, her master's lip curled again – not in a scowl, this time, but in a slow and distinctly chilling smile.

"Yes," he mused. "Lucius." He took a step towards her, his wand idle at his side - but his eyes were locked on hers. "Perhaps you do not understand your friend as I do," he murmured.

Bellatrix opened her mouth instinctively, about to tell her master that from today, Lucius was no friend of hers. But she closed it again, and fell silent without a word – seized by a sudden curiosity, a sudden desire to know just _what_ her master understood about Lucius. What he thought of him at all.

"Shall I tell you about Lucius, Bella?"

He raised his wand – a concise but somehow careless movement – and Bella nodded slowly.

Her master lowered his wand again in lazy approval.

"Lucius believes he is _playing the long game_," he hissed, his expression as unreadable as before. "He believes that if he exercises patience in the present, and avoids failing his master, he will be rewarded in the future." He paused, a smile stretching thin and oddly bloodless lips. "When more reckless followers have . . . fallen by the wayside."

Bella swallowed, her heart thudding against her ribs.

_Selfish, _she thought sullenly. _Liar. __**Worm**__. _

"Will he?"

Her master tilted his head to one side. "What do you think?"

Bella stiffened. "No," she said defiantly. "He doesn't deserve it."

Her master took a step towards her, and raised his wand again, so that it was once more hovering an inch from her lips, his sheer proximity freezing her in an attitude of stormy contempt.

"Lucius' patience is rare," he admonished, and his wand began to fall, tracing the line of her neck as he spoke - never quite making contact with her flushed and fevered skin. "Oh yes . . it is, Bella. Such _patience_ . . . such patiently concealed ambition . . . it is more valuble than you give it credit for."

He smiled, coldly, and Bella couldn't help but wonder if this statement was as complimentary as it seemed. It sounded a little ominous. As if their master had Lucius right where he wanted him . . . .

She couldn't help it. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, and she felt her simmering resentment at Lucius fade a little.

_Fool. _

Her master caught her expression, and raised an eyebrow. He did not smile – but something in his expression suggested he knew what she was thinking, and was somehow amused by it.

There it was again – that high, cold laugh - and then he touched the tip of his wand to her collarbone, and retraced the path it had taken, up to the hollow of her jaw. He pressed the wand of yew briefly against the final, fading bruise on Bellatrix's neck . . . cold as bone . . . and it _ached_. A hidden, hopeless wound.

He must know. He must have noticed. He _must_.

Her master removed his wand – and then he smiled.

"Come, Bella," he said softly. "We are wasting time. Up."

Bella didn't wait to be told twice. She scrambled to her feet, breathing hard, and did her best to alter her expression – to project readiness, determination . . . anything, in short, but a faintly concussed appearance and apparent inability to breathe properly in his presence.

Her master did not comment. Her attempts to regain composure seemed not to interest him at all.

"You are familiar," he said sharply, "with the concept of Legilimency?"

Bella frowned. _Legilimency._ The word did sound familiar. She had the feeling it belonged to the world of newspaper articles and Ministry reports. Frankly, it sounded dull.

Her master's wand hand twitched. "Apparently not. Perhaps the subject _bores _you, Bella?"

He raised an eyebrow at her shocked expression, but seemed more amused than annoyed. A clumsy apology had no sooner occured to her when her master clicked his tongue, impatiently dismissing it.

"The inferior thoughts of inferior people could certainly be considered dull," he conceded. "In that instance, the power of Legilimency is a rather tiresome gift. But sometimes, Bella, it can be much, much more." He paused. "Used correctly," he hissed, "Legilimency can lay bare every treacherous thought, every poorly concealed truth . . . every secret in your adversary's mind. Unfortunately, the power of Legilimency happensto be one of the many weapons in Albus Dumbledore's arsenel."

A rather ugly look clouded his features for a moment, and it took obvious effort to dispel it.

"No matter. The many irritating facets of Albus Dumbledore's character are not part of the current discussion. I am here to teach you Occlumency, the ability to shield your thoughts from prying influences." He paused. "Influences like those of Albus Dumbledore."

Bella felt her heart speed up. "And how does that work?" she asked. "Occlumency?"

"Ah. Yes. Occlumency." Her master pulled himself back into the conversation. "It is an art," he said smoothly. "Like any other. But it requires discipline, and no small amount of skill. Few have the aptitude for it."

Bella stood up a little straighter, bristling with determination. "I can trace my family tree through five _hundred_ untainted years," she objected. "That has to count for something._" _

Her master did not laugh.

"Perhaps," he said at last. "Though the purity of your blood is not in question, Bella."

Bellatrix frowned. There was something in question? "I don't under -"

Her master ignored this. "We shall see," he said briskly, effectively cutting her off. "Set aside your wand."

"My wan – My Lord?"

Her master's eyes flashed. _"Set aside your wand,"_ he repeated, in an icy tone.

Bellatrix placed her wand swiftly on the writing desk to her left, almost tripping over her own hem in her sudden haste. She straightened up again, red-faced, and faced her master, sweat prickling across her empty palms.

She stood, trapped by his gaze, for a long moment – and then, without warning, he raised his wand.

"_Legilimens!"_

It was not like their first meeting . . . and yet it was the same thing. Bella was sure of it. Images hurtled through her mind, summoned against her will, wrenched from the most private crevices of her skull . . .

_Legilimency. _

He had done it before, but then, she had not understood.

Before, the effect hadn't been quite so overwhelming. The images had come to her in snatches, then, swift and distorted. There had been no incantation, and through it all she had seen his face.

_His eyes, boring into hers, intoxicating. And she had thought him . . . _

But this was different. More powerful. The spell hit her like a curse, an assault, and the images were sharper – much sharper. There _was_ no world around her now, there was nothing else to see, and no way to watch her master's expression. She was surrounded by her own memories, drowning in them, and she couldn't fight her way out . . .

_She was eleven years old, curled in a ball at the foot of Cissy's bed, and Andromeda was prying something small and silver from her hand. "There'll be hell to pay if you hex Cissy's hairbrush, Bella," she protested. "Besides, you have your Trace. Do you want to get expelled?"_

"_I don't care," Bella said obstinantly. "I don't care! I hate her!"_

_Andromeda squeezed her arm, ignoring her attempts to twitch away. "It's not her fault," she murmured, smoothing her hair. "It's not her fault they treat her the way they do."_

_Bella scowled, suddenly violent, and Andy pulled her sharply into her arms. _

"_I'm not the favourite either," she whispered, her breath hot against her sister's ear . . . and Bella felt all the fight drain from her jealous, lonely younger self . . _

Bella twitched, appalled at herself. _No, _she thought fiercely. _I hate her . . . I hate her . . . blood traitor . . . liar . . . __**weak . . . **_

Her master did not give her time to dwell on it.

_She was standing in the stairwell, looking down at the empty Slytherin common room. No taller than Cissy, really . . . applying lipstick to stubborn-set lips. There was a faint fluttering in the pit of her stomach, as she wondered how it would feel . . . to be kissed . . ._

_And she knew just how to do it. _

_She smiled. Oh, she knew how to do it. Rodolphus Lestrange would do whatever she wanted, whatever he thought about it. Whatever he thought of __**her . . . . **_

_Little Bella Black . . . _

_She giggled - a sharp and gleeful sound - and her prey jumped. _

Bella swallowed, desperate now. Lestrange? _Lestrange?_ Of all the things for her master to see . . . blackmailing Lestrange into becoming her first kiss had to be the most childish and humiliating.

She hadn't thought of him in a long time. She had forgotten, somehow . . . forgotten how it felt to be thirteen, before Andromeda and purpose and the Cause - forgotten how it felt to care less than Cissy did now, and to want for the sake of wanting. To want because she _chose _to want . . .

_She was treading water in the bath, bubbles thick against her skin. Paper-white and disorientated, because her mind was full of her master, a burning desperate ache she didn't want to feel, and she didn't understand . . . Why did it matter so much, why did she **want** so much? _

_Where had it - ?_

_Why did it - ?_

_She pressed her fingers flat against her neck - at the spot where he had once touched her – and plunged beneath the water. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't care - _

_Drown it – drowning - stop it - **stop - **_

"Stop!"

The room returned in a rush, and Bella staggered drunkenly, light-headed at the sudden return of the solid world. She gasped, staring at the floor as the boards wobbled oddly. Her head was throbbing strangely, and her eyes had begun to smart.

"It was a shock," she protested, cheeks burning. (She hadn't meant to say it. Hadn't meant to say anything at all . . . ) "I can do better," she insisted next. "I didn't know what to do, my Lord - I wasn't ready -"

Her master stood stock still, staring at her with empty eyes, and then he raised his wand.

There was a sound like a whipcrack - and Bellatrix gasped as his spell struck her cheek, sharp as a slap, leaving an angry red weal.

A Stinging Jinx.

And then his wand was at her throat again, forcing her to her knees.

"Such _lies, _Bella . . ."

Bella shook her head emphatically, aghast. "No! My Lord – I didn't know what to do! I didn't – I don't – I tried -" She cut herself off, horrified. He had given her a chance, and she had squandered it, had let him catch her unawares – _it would all be over, if she couldn't convince him otherwise. _

"I would never lie to you!" she cried in desperation.

"Silence," her master spat. He pushed his wand into the hollow of her jaw, forcing her head back, and her neck arched instinctively. She could not have looked away from him now if she wanted to.

"_Silence," _he hissed, and Bella was dimly aware of a shiver, trapped somewhere beneath her skin. "Perhaps it is time we discussed lies," her master said softly.

Lies. _Lies. _

"Yes, Bella. _Lies. _There are times," the Dark Lord stated coldly, "when a lie is necessary. There are times when a lie is wise – to safeguard a plan until the optimum moment, or dupe an unwitting ally. But I do not tolerate lies from my followers – and I do not tolerate excuses. An _excuse, _Bella, is simply a lie my followers tell to themselves - and by extension, to their master."

Bella stared up at him, unable to comprehend how swiftly it had all gone horribly wrong. _"I don't know how to defend myself. I don't know how to perform Occlumency,"_ she wanted to tell him, but that was a lie, an _excuse – _his silence told her as much.

The answers were there. They had to be. She just couldn't see them.

"You are not concentrating," her master spat. "You lack focus."

Bella nodded, numb with horror. She stared at him until her eyes began to water, willing herself to think of the answer. But it wouldn't come to her. Avoiding eye contact – _physically _avoiding the situation – couldn't possibly be what he expected. It was unreliable, rudimentary – the only reason she was here at all was because it was a poor resort. There had to be more to it. There had to be.

But no method of mental defence occured to her. Her master had told her to set aside her wand, yet expected her to fight the spell. She ground her teeth, frustrated. Magic couldn't be magic at all, surely, if a wand wasn't needed to perform it? He couldn't expect some infant outburst of power, she wasn't a _child - _

"Teach me!"

The words emerged more angrily than she had intended, an abrupt demand. Bella swallowed, her heart a throbbing lump in her throat. "Please . . . " she whispered. "Teach me, Master."

The word had echoed a thousand times in her head, but it didn't sound the same out loud, addressed to him directly. It didn't _taste _the same.

But it seemed to please him. Her master's high, cold laugh rang out unexpectedly, and then he lowered his wand . . . and stroked the curve of her jaw with one cold finger, a taunting smile twisting his thin mouth.

"Focus," he breathed. "At last."

Bella nodded, bitterly disappointed when he released her and simply gestured for her to rise.

"Very well," her master said sharply, when she stood before him once more. "You wish for me to teach you? I shall oblige."

There was a soft, mocking undertone to his words, but Bellatrix no longer cared. When she merely nodded fervently, her master gave an almost inaudible laugh.

"Yes," he breathed. There was something intoxicating about his tone. No more than a whisper . . . it seemed more commanding than a shout, somehow. She found herself listening, straining to catch every nuance . . .

"I shall oblige you, Bella . . . ." he murmured. "And in return we shall have no more _lies, _hmm?"

Bellatrix didn't think she had spent so much time nodding in her entire life. Her head was in danger of falling off, but she didn't dare stop. It didn't seem _enough, _somehow. "No," she muttered, humiliated. "No more lies."

"Such progress." Her master had returned to his clipped, cold tone. "Now. Let us waste no more time. To begin," he ordered, "you must first clear your mind of all thought."

Bellatrix set her jaw, determined, and fought valiantly against the urge to stare at the Dark Lord in slack-jawed bewilderment.

"Clear my mind of all thought?" she echoed, confused. "You mean . . . stop thinking, my Lord?"

"Precisely."

"But . . ." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "How do I stop thinking?" she managed at last. She could just as easily stop _breathing_.

"It is not impossible. Although I imagine you may have some difficulty with it."

Bella frowned. "Why?"

"You are too passionate," her master explained patiently. "You feel before you think. It is a troubling attribute of yours."

Bellatrix opened her mouth, and then shut it again, unable to think of a reply. After all, that she was passionate, she could hardly deny. But she didn't see why that was so undesirable, or why it should trouble the Dark Lord.

Her master sighed, a hissing exhalation that made the back of Bella's neck prickle in eerie apprehension.

"For instance," he elaborated. "Your loyalty to me. It is built upon – how shall I put it? Passionate foundations."

Bella reddened. _Oh. That. _

Her master nodded curtly. "Yes. However, we are veering off-topic" His wand hand twitched once more. "I had ordered you, I believe, to stop thinking."

Bellatrix nodded, grateful that for some unknown reason, he had chosen not to explore her inappropriate feelings any further. "And how do I do that?" she asked. "How do I stop thinking?"

Her masrer treated her to a taut, vampiric smile. "Clear your mind of all thought, Bella," he replied.

Bellatrix resisted the urge to roll her eyes with difficulty, succeeding only because she knew her master would not take too kindly to it. How was she supposed to clear her mind of all thought? Surely that was the same as not thinking?

Still, she supposed she had to try. Taking a deep breath, she tried to push every unwelcome, obtrusive little thought out of her mind. For a few short seconds, she succeeded. But then . . . she growled in annoyance.

Every time – _every time – _she thought she had managed it, something would sneak past her defences, past the solid brick wall she kept trying to conjure in her mind. Some nagging, persistant little thought, like "this is stupid" or "finally, I did it!"

Bellatrix scowled. Her master sighed, the air hissing through his teeth.

"Come here."

Nervously, she approached, stopping when she was a foot or so away from her master.

"Closer, Bella," he said impatiently. Dangerously. When she hesitated, he made a little sound of annoyance and strode towards her, coming to a halt just inches away. "Close your eyes," he hissed.

Panicking a little now, Bella obeyed. She gave an involuntary start of surprise as she felt him press his fingertips to her temples, and tried to open her eyes.

Only to find that she couldn't. Her master's thumbs were pressed lightly against her eyelids, the feather-light touch keeping her blind.

"Quiet," he murmured softly. "Now. Stop thinking. Is that really so beyond you, Bella? Let go of every train of thought . . . just _stop_."

She swallowed. Her heart was stuttering in her chest, and she could hardly breathe. _Well, that would be one way to clear my mind, _she thought sourly. _Stop breathing and fall unconscious. _To her surprise, her master laughed again.

"Try a little harder, Bella."

Bellatrix tried to open her eyes again, surprised. "How do you know it's not working?" she asked, curious. After all, if eye-contact was so important . . . .

She was distracted by the feel of goosebumps erupting along her spine.

He was tracing the frown line on her forehead with a long, cold finger.

"Your face gives you away, Bella," he said softly, now tracing the downward curve of her mouth. Her lips tingled and she swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Oh . . ." she mumbled, unable to think of anything to say. And really, why was it so important anyway? Why did she always have to have something to say? Why couldn't she just . . . . .

_Feel. _

The last word was an echo in her thoughts, a whisper that slowly died away, leaving in its wake . . . nothing.

Blank, empty calm.

His finger, still tracing a pattern on her lips, became softer and softer, until it was just the ghost of a touch that she could feel, and then . . . . nothing at all.

The silence swelled around her, the oddly steady thud of her heart the only thing she could hear. But eventually – a hundred heartbeats later, or a hundred hundred - she found that thoughts began to surface again.

She opened her eyes.

Her master stood some way away, in the shadow of heavy velvet drapes, watching her in silence. He looked paler than ever in the gloom - inhuman and intangible.

Bella blinked. She felt heavy and tired, as though she could quite easily fall asleep where she stood. She had never felt so calm before. Blissfully, beautifully, all-consumingly calm.

It was quiet in her head. For the first time, nothing seethed or screamed or shrieked for her attention. Oh, they were still there - all the thoughts which had seemed so urgent and clamourous just moments ago, which had threatened to overwhelm her, to ruin her by surfacing at the wrong moment. They were still there – still safe in her head, all her seething indignities and burning ambition and sharp-edged pride, all the memories they provoked. But they were oddly dull and dimmed, in this state - and it wasn't perfect, but if she wanted to, if she _tried_ . . . she could push them far away.

Safe, for the moment.

Her master's gaze was searing. There was no incantation this time, but Bella could still sense it – something more than simple scrutiny, nudging the truth to the front of her mind. She swallowed, briefly panicked - but she could keep it at bay. She could do it. Her master would not attack her as brutally as before, (it had been a taster, a demonstration of his power, surely?) . . . . and Dumbledore would never use the incantation. The Headmaster would never try to force the truth from her so violently, as long as she gave him no reason to. All she had to do was hold this feeling, keep the truth at bay for a little while – just long enough to avoid suspiscion without appearing suspicious herself.

She smirked. The old man could twinkle at her all he liked, now. He could spend the whole of detention scanning her in serious, silent contemplation. She knew how to hold him off.

She smirked, and her master smiled, a cold and triumphant expression.

"You have learnt enough for one day," he said softly. "You may leave."

Bella didn't wait for his approval to wear off. She sank into a shaking, triumphant bow, and reached for the handle of the knife.


	14. How My Heart Behaves

**A / N : ****An update! (I know, I know . . .)**

**I won't go into the myriad reasons I haven't updated in so long, but I will apologize. I know how annoying it is to get hooked on a story, only to watch the updates dry up, and I never intended to be that kind of author. But I have a lot on my plate, and unfortunately, I can't always put my stories first, or even give them a reasonable position on my priorities list. But I haven't given up on them. I'm doing my best to write more of my stories, and it's not lack of ideas or enthusiasm that's getting in the way, just . . . life, unfortunately. I'm doing the best I can to remedy the situation. **

**Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this, and to all the people who have left me such lovely reviews for this, both anonymously and otherwise – even when it hadn't been updated in a while. I appreciate it more than you know. **

**Chapter title is a song by Feist – it's very pretty, and well worth a listen.**

* * *

Cissy blinked, forcing her eyes open with an effort. She felt heavy and stiff, as though tiredness had sunk into her bones somehow. It took her a moment to realize that she was lying on top of the covers in her four-poster bed, in full school uniform. She sat up with another gargantuan effort, feet dragging heavily across the blankets, and realized she was even wearing her shoes_. _

Something had happened. She'd been sick, maybe. Or she'd decided to sit down and had fallen asleep – that had been happening more and more lately . . .

She sat bolt upright, and the world whirled oddly. _Bella_. Bella had tried to make her eat. And – and – something had happened . . . Cissy shivered.

Something had happened. She had fainted, and the world had been wiped clean, had been turned temporarily to a warm pink haze of forgetfulness. When had she forgotten? Before she fainted? Afterwards? Bella had been there, and . . . Lucius Malfoy, she realized with horror. He'd been there too.

She bit back a groan. Her head ached.

From the other side of the curtain came a badly-stifled giggle, and an unmistakeable snigger, like an overexcited piglet – a sound that could only come from Priscilla Parkinson. Priscilla had spent all of Cissy's first year, and most of her second, ensuring it was impossible for anyone to forget that Cissy's sister had run away with a Mudblood – and Narcissa despised her for it.

"I _told_ you she's not right. Everyone knows she fainted, and her sister wouldn't even take her to the hospital wing."

"Shh! She'll hear you!"

Priscilla sniffed. "So what if she does?" She paused, and there came the sound of chewing. "Did you hear the way he talked to us?" she huffed after a moment. "_'Put her to bed," _like we were his house-elves or something. What does he care anyway? Just because he's got a thing for her sister . . ."

A rush of heat ran to her face, and Cissy wrenched open the curtains. The effect of her sudden appearance was almost comical – the three girls gave a collective shriek, and Priscilla toppled off her bed and onto the floor. She glared up at Cissy, furious, but Narcissa simply glared back. She was tired, and hungry, and didn't care if they planned to gossip about her all day after this – she just wanted them to leave her _alone. _

The other two hauled Priscilla to her feet. Cissy could have sworn the girl's hair was frizzing in indignation. She opened her mouth to speak, red-faced and furious, but Cissy took a step towards her, scowling as if her life depended on it, and she seemed to reconsider. The other girls gasped.

"Oh Cilla, be careful! You don't know what she might do to you!"

"Maybe there's an age limit, and then they _all _go mad!"

"Didn't you say her sister broke Camilla's wrist that time?"

"Dislocated," Cilla sniffed.

Cissy glowered. When this only made them flinch, she made a wild grab for Priscilla's wrist. Priscilla screamed and ran for the door, hugging her arms to her chest.

Cissy sighed. Not too long ago, the fact that every girl her own age thought she was likely to turn violent and mad at any moment, or to run away with a Muggle, had been so awful she could hardly stand it, and the fact that Bella didn't care enough to help had simply made her feel more like giving up. But now she didn't have the strength to be bothered by it.

There was a bowl of porridge, stone-cold, on her bedside table. Cissy prodded the skin with her spoon and pulled a face. Thirteen years. Surely that was long enough for Bella to notice that she hated porridge with a passion?

Apparently not.

Cissy smiled and scraped the stodgy mess into the plant pot on the next table. It contained Priscilla's prized honking daffodils, which she maintained had been a Valentine's Day gift, and used every morning instead of an alarm clock. Narcissa had long been attempting to kill them off, but they seemed to be thriving on a diet of cold tea, old porridge, and ink spills. She tried to beam negative thoughts in their direction as she washed and changed. A contented slurping sound, emanating from the depths of the pot, indicated that the daffodils were thoroughly enjoying their breakfast, and remained blissfully oblivious to Cissy's thoughts of shears and flesh-eating slugs.

(_Pathetic, Bella would say . ..)_

Cissy turned them to face the wall and trailed disconsolately to the common room, where Bellatrix would no doubt be waiting. Whatever had happened yesterday, it was unlikely she'd get away with it.

The common room was empty.

Cissy scanned the room twice in careful silence, hardly able to believe it. No Bella. She frowned. It was shaping up to be the first truly hot day of summer, and everyone else seemed to have gone to Hogsmeade to enjoy it. The younger students were probably sunbathing by the lake or sweating in the library. But the weather had never mattered much to Bellatrix. Knowing her, she'd probably just drag Cissy outside and shout at her in the sun.

Besides – Bella hadn't left her alone in weeks, much less without warning. She'd hardly run off now. It didn't make any sense.

Cissy raised a cushion cautiously, searching for a note, or evidence of a trick.

"She's not here."

Cissy yelped, and then blushed furiously. The owner of the voice was Lucius Malfoy, who was reclining in her sister's usual chair, with an essay - covered in Bella's untidy, written-in-a-hurry penmanship - dangling loosely from his fingertips. He was staring at it, his expression a curious mixture of contempt and concern. Narcissa tilted her head to the side, trying to read it herself, but she caught no more than the words _"he says he'll . . ." _trailing across the margin, before Lucius crumpled the parchment and tossed it into the fire. Cissy frowned.

"Where's Bella?" she asked uncertainly.

"I told you. She isn't here." He paused. "She's gone to Hogsmeade."

"But-" It had flown out of her mouth before she could stop it, and when he caught her gaze for the first time, Narcissa almost lost her nerve. "But - you don't understand," she stammered. "She wouldn't leave me alone. She _never _leaves me alone anymore . . ."

"And yet, she did," Lucius said tonelessly.

Narcissa opened her mouth to protest this and then shut it again, struck by a sudden realization. _Bella wasn't here. _Oh, she'd be back, later, but for now . .. she wasn't here. She couldn't make her do _anything. _She didn't have to eat all day if she didn't want to. Relief poured through her, and she smiled. She suddenly felt lighter than air, completely relaxed.

"Thank you!" she cried to Lucius, and turned to leave, before her luck snapped.

She was halfway to the entrance of the common room when she paused and spun round again, remembering that there was something she'd meant to ask.

Lucius, to her surprise, had half-risen from his chair, as though about to try and prevent her leaving. When Cissy stared, he cleared his throat and hastily sat down again.

Narcissa shook herself. "I . . . er. I wanted to ask you something," she said, wincing.

Lucius waved a hand, as if to say "ask away", and she relaxed a little.

"I . . . what happened yesterday?"

"You fainted," Lucius said, in an offhand tone.

"Oh." Narcissa wanted to ask about the warm blank space in her memory, but something in her didn't dare. She settled upon something else that had been bothering her instead. "When I came round," she said hesistantly, "and Bella went to detention . . . did you give me a Sleeping Draught?"

Lucius coloured. "You seemed a little overwrought," he said delicately. "I thought it might be a good idea to let you, ah, sleep it off. You were . . ."

"Crying?"

"Yes."

Embarrassment fought confusion, and confusion won. "So you put me to _sleep?" _Cissy asked, incredulous.

Malfoy shrugged. "I wasn't sure what else to do with you. Besides, I had work to do."

Cissy stared. Lucius was strange. On the other hand, she supposed he had been trying to help. She just wished she could decide if his method of help was more or less selfish than Bella's preferred response of ignoring her. He'd effectively just switched her off, as if she were a radio programme he felt rather uncomfortable listening to.

"Thank you," Cissy said, unsure of whether or not she actually meant this. She turned to leave, her face flaming.

"I thought you might stay."

Cissy froze, and tried to find a surreptitious way to pinch herself. Lucius tugged awkwardly at his collar, looking more than a little disgruntled, and Cissy felt suspiscion flower in her stomach.

"Did Bella do this?" she probed. "Did she make you agree to – to _babysit _me?"

Lucius scoffed, offended. "Of course not. I'm not your sister's servant."

"Then who?" A horrible thought struck her. "It wasn't Dumbledore, was it? If it was I'll write to my father and -"

"It was Slughorn," Lucius interrupted.

Narcissa swallowed, humiliated.

"Well," she snapped, "you can tell him that I don't need a babysitter. I'm _fine, _and it's the weekend. Unless he wants to give me detention you can tell him I'm just fine, thank you very much."

She paused for breath, panting. She hadn't been this angry since her argument with Sirius. It was a new feeling.

Lucius watched her for a moment, narrowing his eyes. "You haven't asked why he thinks you need assistance," he said slowly.

"Because I _don't _need it!"

"Then why would he think you do?" The question was whip-fast, and stung her into silence. "You haven't asked," Lucius continued. "Which might suggest you already know."

"I don't," Narcissa snapped, and then remembered where she was and who she was talking to. Another hot flame of embarrassment curled into her chest. "I'm sorry," she stuttered. "But I don't. Goodbye."

* * *

Narcissa caught her breath midway to the Owlery, and sat down heavily on the steps, winding her fingers around the iron of the railing. _A cage, _she thought, and then wondered why she'd thought it at all. She tightened her hold.

Her stomach had started to seize again and she felt faintly sick. Life seemed to be spinning out of the realm of sense, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. Bellatrix was starting to seem like a stranger, never quite on the same plane as her . . . while Lucius Malfoy was becoming all too real. His irritable concern left her feeling off-balance, as though a painting had stepped forward to prod her.

Cissy pressed her palms against the cool stone of the step and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She flinched at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"At last," Lucius snapped. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to find you?"

"No," Cissy mumbled.

"More time than I have to waste. What are you doing up here?"

_Nothing, _Cissy thought desperately. _That's the point._

When she didn't reply, however, Lucius sighed. He leaned against the wall, frowning.

"Strange girl."

"Why are you doing this?" Cissy managed at last.

"I was asked to."

"I know, but . .." Cissy frowned. "You don't have to. You're leaving soon, and you're already Head Boy. Why bother?"

Lucius shrugged. "Slughorn is a powerful man, in his own way. He certainly has connections. And connections can be useful," he mused. "I don't see that it's such a bad idea to keep him onside."

"Do you always think about people like that?"

Lucius frowned down at her. "What do you mean?"

"I . . . well . . . do you like him?"

"Slughorn? Not particularly."

"Do you like Dumbledore?"

"I think he's probably the worst thing that's ever happened to this school."

"Do you like Bella?"

"She galls me."

"Do you like your father?" Narcissa asked curiously.

"I don't believe so."

Narcissa blinked. "Don't you like _anyone?" _

Lucius appeared to consider it. "There are people I share opinions with."

"But you don't actually like them."

"Not especially. I'm not sure I take your point."

"I . . . um. It doesn't matter."

"Good. Now, stop being difficult."

He extended a hand, and after a moment's contemplation, Narcissa took it. The very fact that she was holding Lucius Malfoy's hand would normally have reduced her to a state of dizzy incoherency, but she couldn't seem to let go of her current train of thought. She had the feeling it was building up to something important, if only she could get her thoughts in order.

"But you like Hogwarts," she blurted out.

Lucius paused. "Yes."

"And you like being a Malfoy."

Lucius looked momentarily affronted. "Of course I do."

"And," - Narcissa bit her lip - "and you agree with – with what's happening. All these . . . incidents and things, in the Prophet."

"Someone has to take a stand."

Narcissa blinked. She had it.

"You like ideas," she murmered, to herself more than anyone. "You like ideas more than real things . . ."

Lucius froze. Then he dropped her hand, and turned away abruptly.

"I have work to do," he snapped. "I'd quite _like _Os in my NEWTs."

He set off down the stairs without turning round.

Narcissa couldn't see his face, and when she opened her mouth again, she found that the words wouldn't come out.

_It's alright, _she wanted to tell him. _I do too. _

* * *

Narcissa edged into the common room and took a deep breath, praying her courage wouldn't desert her.

Lucius was sitting in front of the fire with his nose in a book, and his elbow on a pile of them. The rest of the common room appeared deserted – unsurprising, given the weather. There were more books on the coffee table, among the remnants of a lunch tray and an avalanche of parchment which had fallen, unnoticed, to the floor.

Cissy moved forward carefully and began to tidy up. She had straightened the stack of books and gathered together the lunch things before Lucius looked up. She swept up the parchment rolls with a wave of her wand and then sat down beside him, staring at her hands.

"You can tell Professor Slughorn you're keeping an eye on me," she said quietly.

Silence.

"I suppose you want to go for lunch," Lucius said tiredly.

"Oh, no. I already ate." It had been a bread roll, but Cissy hardly felt this was worth mentioning. She hesitated. "I thought I might help you revise," she offered at last.

Lucius gave her a long look.

"Check my answers against the book," he said eventually. "Note anything incorrect, pass it back to me. Don't distract me."

Narcissa nodded, but he'd already disappeared inside another book. She picked up the nearest roll of parchment and hefted _ A History of Magic, Grade 7, _into her left hand. After a little while, she passed it back, and curled up more comfortably.

"Your spelling is lamentable," Lucius noted.

"What?"

"It was Bogric the Better. Not Bogril. Pay attention."

Narcissa frowned, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "I wrote 'Bogric'," she said patiently. "That's a 'c', not an 'l'. Like this."

She dipped her quill in the nearest inkpot and pulled his hand towards her. "See?" she said, pointing with the feathered end of the quill. "'Lucius'. A 'c' and an 'l'."

Lucius stared at her.

Narcissa dropped his hand as she felt the blush surge past her collar. "I . . . I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I'm tired."

Lucius opened his mouth and she reddened again, waiting for the comment, for the snide remark about keeping her hands and her ink to herself – the remark that Bella would have given.

It didn't come.

Lucius closed his mouth, apparently lost for words. Cissy had a funny feeling he'd have been less surprised if she'd slapped him.

"I'm sorry."

Lucius shook his head. "Fine," he muttered. He glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece and gave an irritated sigh.

He was waiting for Bella to get back. Narcissa swallowed, her mouth suddenly very dry.

"Do you love her?" she asked quietly.

"What?"

"Bella. Do you love her?"

If she thought he'd been staring before, it was nothing to the look he gave her now. "Why on earth would you think _that?" _he said. "I don't even like her."

Cissy bit her lip. "I don't like her much, sometimes. I still love her."

Lucius gave a contemptuous snort. "I can assure you I'm not in love with your sister. I don't even believe in it."

"In _love_?"

"Of course not. It's a childish concept, nothing more."

"I believe in it."

Lucius laughed. "I expect you would."

Cissy felt a hot prickle of embarrassment, and suddenly, she was angry again. "Then what are you doing?" she asked. "With Bella, I mean. You don't love her, you don't like her, but you spend all your time together and you're both _lying. _I know you never went to France together. She forgets whenever I ask her about it, unless she has time to remember it's a lie. And _you_ came back to the castle in the middle of the night, covered in blood – I _saw _you."

"My father had an accident," Lucius interjected. "He drinks. I helped him up, that's all. Nothing sinister."

"And France?"

Lucius sighed, evidently annoyed. "I required her help. With my father, you understand . . . I didn't want his condition to become public knowledge, so I convinced her to come up with another story."

Cissy frowned. "Why would Bella care about your father? She doesn't care about anyone. And I don't think she even likes you."

"I never said there wasn't anything in it for her."

"What was in it for her?"

Lucius shrugged.

"I know you know," Cissy said hopelessly. "I know you know, and you won't tell me. And Bella won't tell me _anything."_

"That's not my concern."

"Is she in trouble?"

Lucius shifted uncomfortably. "Of course not. I just gave her an introduction, that's all."

"Then . . . then . . . is it a man?"

His gaze flickered towards her, and then away. "What?"

Narcissa smoothed her skirt, her heart beating just a shade too quickly. "She's keeping secrets," she said evenly. "She's sneaking off, and she won't tell me anything, and she's lying to our parents . . . it - it's what Andromeda did. He's not a Mudblood. Just promise he's not a Mudblood, _please . . ."_

"Of course not," Lucius scoffed, and for a moment he looked as though he might actually laugh. "Don't be absurd. Can you really imagine your sister . . ." He trailed off. Apparently some ideas were too outlandish to envision.

Cissy knotted her fingers in her lap. With a supreme effort of will, she looked up and met his gaze.

"That's the point," she said sadly. "I _couldn't."_


	15. Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This

**A / N : Chapter title is from the song by Eurythmics. Enjoy!**

**(Also, currently not feeling well, so if you spot any typos or continuity goofs, please let me know.)  
**

* * *

Bella traced the edge of the knife with her forefinger, lost in thought. Her hand – sliced open and not even half-healed – was still stiff and smarting, every movement splitting the wound like a torn seam. But the pain felt dull and distant somehow, a lesser priority.

Her lips tingled.

He had touched her. _He had touched her. _

She smiled, drunk with delight. It had been terrifying, and exhilarating, and . . . _not enough. _She wanted more. She _needed _more.

Her finger slipped, and she let out a hiss of annoyance, blood beading on her fingertip. She wiped the knife clean on her robes and stuck her finger in her mouth, considering.

She ought to have disposed of the dagger. That much was obvious – if found among her belongings at school, it would only raise questions, and her parents would know immediately that it wasn't a family heirloom. She should dispose of it.

She knew with sharp-edged certainty that she wouldn't.

It was _hers, _she thought. It hadn't been given to her, exactly, but it had brought her to him_. _She pressed the cool silver of the blade to her lips, and closed her eyes. It was almost . . . almost the same . . .

It wasn't the same. Bella let out a growl of frustration and flung the knife across the hall.

_Not good enough. _

She stayed where she was for a long moment, fighting the angry heat rising in her chest, and the throbbing in her hand. And then, slowly, she smiled. It didn't matter. He had touched her, hadn't he? She traced the smile on her lips and stood up, tugging the knife from its position an inch deep in mortar. She blew the dust off and thrust it into her boot.

_Not good enough . .. . but it would do for now._

* * *

Malfoy was waiting for her in the common room. She assumed he was waiting for her, anyway. How much time could one person spend studying? In Malfoy's case it would seem to be every waking hour, and it wasn't as if he needed it.

At present he was sitting in front of the fire, elbow-deep in discarded parchment, immersed in _A History of Magic. _Bella dropped, unnoticed, into the armchair opposite, and frowned.

Cissy was asleep on his shoulder.

_You forgot about her. _

Well . . . so what? It had been important, and Cissy was obviously . . . fine . . .

Bella pushed aside this irksome inner voice, and tried to ignore her sudden uneasiness. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even thought about Cissy.

"Why is she asleep?"

Malfoy didn't jump, but it was a close thing. He closed the book with such haste that he almost shut his nose in it.

"What?"

"Why is she asleep?"

"Who?"

"My _sister!"_

Lucius blinked. Following her gaze, he flinched.

"When did that happen?"

"How should I know?"

"Good point. Damn." He rolled up a piece of parchment and tentatively prodded Narcissa, as though she were a dangerous animal that might attack at any moment. When this soft treatment failed to rouse her, he wound the parchment together more tightly and wedged it between them, attempting to pry her off.

Bellatrix snickered. "Oh, _that's _going to work."

"Have you got any better ideas?"

Bella yawned, reclining into the armchair. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel her master's touch on her lips . . .

"Of course."

"Any you feel like sharing?" Malfoy asked irritably.

"Of course not."

She listened, for a moment, as Malfoy persisted in trying to move Cissy without waking her and then seemed to give up. There was an awkward, protracted silence, and eventually, Bellatrix remembered why.

She dragged herself from her daydream with an effort, and opened her eyes. Malfoy was watching her, wearing an expression that seemed to comprise equal parts confusion and discomfort. At last, he cracked.

"What have you been doing?"

"You know what I've been doing," Bella said lazily.

"You look . . . _look _at yourself."

Bella raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I see. Am I your business now? Is that how it works for you, Lucius? You leave me high and dry when it _matters, _and now you're worried about me? Is poor little Bella in trouble? Oh dear. It would be awful if that was _your _fault, wouldn't it?"

Lucius scowled. "Don't mistake my disbelief for concern," he snapped.

Cissy shifted uncomfortably in her sleep, slipping into his lap. Lucius grimaced, and made an apparent effort to relax.

"I stand by what I said earl-"

"Oh, shut up," Bella interrupted.

"What?"

"I said shut up. You're off the hook."

Bella scowled. Her memory of this afternoon was fading already, all too quickly. For the first time in her life, waging war on Malfoy just didn't seem any _fun._

She stared at him for a long moment.

"It was a test," she said at last. "Wasn't it? I was supposed to get there without your help."

When Malfoy made no response, Bella smiled broadly. "And I _did," _she continued smugly.

When even this failed to provoke him, she smirked. "Oh, are you sulking? Ugh. Don't blame me, I _told _you you should have come."

Malfoy's expression remained immoveable.

"Look at yourself."

"What are you talking about?"

"For the love of Merlin, just _look _at yourself."

Bella sighed, annoyed at Lucius for not rising to the bait. Annoyed at him for having the nerve to puncture her good mood at all, actually. Still, he didn't seem inclined to let the subject drop, so she rose and crossed to the mirror above the fireplace.

She blinked, and her smile faded for the first time since her return from Hogsmeade. Her lips were bleeding, split along the lines of the knife. She didn't even remember that happening, and she had somehow managed to forget the wound on her palm, which was bound up loosely in her cloak, soaking the sleeve to the elbow. Her hair was windswept and wild-looking, the mark left by the Stinging Jinx a livid, violent counterpoint to the unnatural pallour of her cheeks. She looked . . .

There were no words for how she looked.

Had people been staring? She couldn't remember.

"I . . ."

Malfoy cut across her. "Whatever you did to warrant that . . . On second thoughts, forget it. I'm not entirely sure I want to know."

Bellatrix felt her temper flare. "I didn't do anything _to warrant that. _It went well. He likes me."

Malfoy gave a cough which sounded disbelieving even to her inattentive ears.

"He does! Which is more than I can say for some."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Bella smiled. "Wouldn't you just love to know?"

Malfoy scoffed. "Of course," he sneered. "I'm sure you're privy to all sorts now, on the basis of one moderately successful-"

"_Moderately successful?" _

"Be _quiet_!"

Bella's hand was halfway to her wand before he gestured to her sister, and she realized Malfoy might not be simply throwing his weight around. She bit her tongue.

They both watched Cissy for a moment, but she seemed too used to Bella's outbursts to be roused by one.

"Clean up," Malfoy managed at last, in a slightly less antagonizing tone. "For the love of Merlin, she's been asking enough questions as it is. Questions which, while we're on the subject, it is _not _my job to answer."

Bella waved a hand airily. "Oh, I told her all that stuff years ago, when she walked in on Evan and some airhead in the-"

"Not those questions!" Lucius spluttered. "I was referring to you. She's suspiscious about you."

Bella sat up sharply. "What did you tell her?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know what I'd think, anymore. You're getting weirder by the day."

Lucius frowned. "I didn't tell her anything," he rejoined at last. "She's acquired some strange ideas all on her own. I left her to develop them in peace."

Bella narrowed her eyes. "What kind of ideas?" she asked suspisciously.

Malfoy shrugged. "You're behaving . . . more erratically than usual, shall we say . . . so she assumes some kind of romantic entanglement."

"Ugh. Not with you again? That stopped being funny _weeks_ ago."

"I never found it funny."

"Wasn't it your idea?"

"I thought it was yours."

Bella yawned. "Oh. I can't remember. I just assumed it was one of your stupid ideas." She paused. "It _was _funny though. Skeeter's face!"

"Your _father's _face," Malfoy reminded her.

Bella cringed. "Good point. Alright, so . . ."

"Invent some fiction for your sister."

"Got it."

Bella stretched, catlike, flinching as the tip of the dagger pricked her ankle.

"What now?"

"Nothing. I'm going to go clean up. Don't wake her up yet!"

Malfoy gave Cissy's shoulder a cautious prod. "I hardly think I can. She's sleeping like the dead." She twitched, and he hastily withdrew his hand. "Don't be long," he warned, but Bella was hardly listening. Blood was trickling into her boot, and it took an effort not to hobble from the room.

* * *

Cleaning up proved easier than expected, once she found herself in her empty dormitory. A change of clothes, salve for the smaller cuts and bruises, some ice on the mark left by the Stinging Jinx . . . she couldn't help but sneer at Malfoy. Honestly. They were only surface wounds. They wouldn't last. It had gone _well. _

A smaller, somewhat less triumphant inner voice retorted : _Surface wounds is __**well? **_

It sounded like Andromeda, Bella thought spitefully, as she turned the knife over again in her hands, considering. She watched the candlelight catch the blade, and saw, again, silver flash in sunlight.

She buried the knife deep in her trunk and straightened up. A voice that sounded like Andromeda, she decided, was a voice that wasn't worth listening to.

By the time she returned, Malfoy had managed to free himself from Cissy.

He had also taken her chair. Bella perched on the arm, just to annoy him.

"There you go," she purred. "All cleaned up." She flicked his badge with a fingernail, and smirked. "Aren't I a good girl?"

Lucius stiffened and tried to swat her away.

Bella laughed.

"Oh, relax, I'm not even remotely tempted. What's got into you today?" She snatched at the hand that had swatted her. "_Luc-ius . . . _you're forgetting your own name now?"

"Of course not. Don't be deliberately obtuse."

"Poor Lucius . . . one day with my sister and you're already losing your marbles. I told you she'd drive you mad." Bella grinned. "But look on the bright side!" She patted his arm. "You dot your i's _very _prettily, darling."

Lucius prodded her with his wand, tipping her off the armrest. "Haha. Very funny," he said dryly. He frowned at his hand. "Is that a . . . . ?" He began to scrub frantically at the back of his hand.

Bella smiled lazily. "So. How bad _was _it?"

Malfoy stopped scrubbing. "Your sister? It was . . . interesting."

"What do you mean, interesting?"

Malfoy shrugged. Bella narrowed her eyes.

"What do you mean, _interesting?" _she repeated. "What did she do? What did she tell you about me?"

Lucius began scrubbing the back of his hand again, in an absent-minded sort of way. "You know what the word 'interesting' means, Bellatrix."

"Not in this context I don't!" Bella snapped. "'Interesting' and 'Cissy' don't belong in the same sentence."

Lucius shot her a sharp look. "I don't see why not. Is it so difficult to imagine your sister is capable of carrying a conversation?"

"Yes!"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and Bella felt her fingers curl into fists.

"There's nothing interesting about Cissy," she spat. "She doesn't know anything, she doesn't care about anything_. _Ribbons and dresses and lovehearts and _rubbish, _that's all she cares about. And if it wasn't before, it definitely is now!"

Malfoy simply cast her a supercilious smile. "Bellatrix, she's not _quite _as empty-headed as you make out."

Bella fumed.

"Oh, please! Empty-headed is exactly what she is – you wouldn't know the first thing about it! If she ever had an interesting thought, she'd starve it out!"

Bellatrix bit down hard on her tongue, a moment too late. Malfoy's usual smugness had flickered into uncertainty.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Bellatrix beat him to it. She was at his side in a moment, her wand pressed to his throat.

"You tell _anyone," _she snarled, "_anyone . . ."_

He waved her off. "I don't understand. I thought she was ill."

"She is. She'd be fine if she'd just _eat _like a normal person. She's just being stubborn."

"Stubborn is not how I would describe her conduct yesterday."

"Ugh." Bellatrix turned away from him, kneeling instead beside Cissy.

She was still asleep. Close to, she didn't look any better than yesterday.

"It's for her own good," she murmered. "You don't understand - Cissy _needs_ to be pushed. She doesn't know her own mind." She wound a portion of her sister's fair hair around her finger.

"I'm going to fix her," she said fiercely - and gave a short, sharp tug.

Cissy awoke with a cry. "Bella!"

She sat up sluggishly and then slumped back onto the chaise-longue, defeated.

"Bella, that _hurt_."

Bella grinned. "Hello, Cissy. Sweet dreams?"

Cissy blinked. "No," she mumbled. "I wasn't dreaming."

Bella rolled her eyes at Lucius, who had suddenly become deeply interested in his Astrology chart. _"You see?_" she mouthed. _"Empty-headed."_

When Lucius merely ignored her, she turned back to Cissy.

"Boring."

Cissy stood up, rubbing her eyes. "It wasn't," she said defensively. "It was nice." Her gaze flickered to Lucius, and she turned faintly pink. "I, um . . . I didn't mean to fall asleep."

He waved a hand dismissively, and she smiled as if she had just been made guest of honour at the Slug Club.

Bellatrix grimaced. "Yeuch. Cissy, that's revolting."

Cissy's cheeks deepened to crimson and she plucked nervously at her cloak, as though hoping to lose herself inside it.

"I - I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, in an unconvincing imitation of indifference.

"You have no taste. Go to bed."

She prodded Cissy with her wand, laughing . . . and her sister swayed. Malfoy looked up from his parchment with a cry of alarm, but Cissy had fallen to her knees by that time, her face paper-white, gripping the edge of her chair for support.

"I'm alright . . ." she mumbled, eyes closed. "Just .. . tripped . . ."

"Are you . . .?" Malfoy was half-out of his seat when he found Bella's wand pressed once more to his throat.

"Don't touch her," she snarled. "Don't you dare." She seized Cissy by the arm and hauled her into a standing position. "You heard her. She tripped. She's tired. Which is why I'm going to put her to bed-" - she tightened her grip - "and we're going to _talk about it." _

"Bella, I'm-"

"_Shut up." _

Cissy fell silent at once.


End file.
